Assorted Seeker Silliness!
by TheInamorato
Summary: Worst Acronym Ever! Still, a sign of the flavor of wrongness contained in this little collection of various TFA Seeker kinkiness. They might amuse you. I'm addicted to writing the Seeker clones!
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: since most of these are de-anoned kinks, I'll explain the setup for each 'chapter'. This one, Starscream runs into the Jettwins, who are feeling...way frisky. A battle of wills!!_

Starscream growled at the noise of pursuit behind him. Did these filthy humans never learn? He was all-powerful, immortal Starscream! They were no match with their puny weapons and their frail aircraft. A powerful mech such as himself had every right to treat himself with luxuries, such as this pallet of energon he'd liberated from one of Sumdac's warehouses. A powerful mech like himself needed sustenance. Quality sustenance. And what better than the energon being stored for the Elite Guard ship?

He veered into a series of maneuvers, trying to shake his pursuit, grumbling as the need to hold the energon pallet hampered his maneuverability. He'd try this one: cutting over a swath of forest, he dove to the floor of a valley below, veering wildly around the trunks of the sparse trees.

He cursed as the first flash of fire shot over his shoulder. Shooting at him? At the immortal Starscream? And the blue flash was definitely Cybertronian. That was it! Starscream tossed the pallet to the ground—he could retrieve it later—and swung in midair to face his attacker.

Who was tiny.

And blue.

And cocky.

"Ha!" Jetstorm gloated. "Having the battle now, we are!" He fired two more shots at Starscream's head.

This was outrageous! Starscream would show this insolent jumped-up toaster a thing or two about respect. Thing one: don't pick a fight with anything faster than you. Starscream rocketed toward the blue Autobot, barrel-rolling fast enough that Jetstorm's shots sailed harmlessly past. He plowed into the smaller mech, sending him crashing through the trees.

Starscream landed lightly on his feet, aiming his null rays, both of them, at Jetstorm's head. Thing two: don't pick a fight with someone better armed. "I hope this has been a good day for you, Autobot," Starscream sneered, "Since it will be your last. At least you shall have the honor of having been offlined by the omnipotent Starscream, rightful leader of the Decepticons (currently in exile)."

"I am thinking not," Jetstorm said grinning under his visor, and then…something happened and Starscream found himself hurled bodily through the air, away from the blue Autobot.

When he finally got his thrusters stabilized, and the fluid in his tanks stopped spinning nauseatingly, the blue mech had launched himself in the air again, straight at him.

"I am showing you who is having good day, yes?" Jetstorm said, firing another salvo at Starscream's head. Starscream dodged—barely—and dashed in, backhanding the smaller mech, grinning at the satisfying crunch of metal against metal. The blue mech's engines sputtered, and he clawed wildly, catching one of the Decepticon's legs by the knee-plate to stop his fall.

Starscream sneered, lifting his other foot, preparing to blast the Autobot off him with his engine blast, when something struck him from behind with force enough to bend him over.

"You are getting off my brother!" a voice blasted in his ear.

"He should be getting off me!" Starscream said, kicking his leg, trying to dislodge the blue Autobot. The newcomer wrapped his arms around Starscream's face, blinding him, kicking him in the (very sensitive) wingflaps. Starscream howled, shaking his attacker off him with a violent toss of the head. The blue mech took the opportunity to clamber further up Starscream's body, his own engines still fritzy. Starscream snatched the blue mech off him, holding it at arm's length, preparing to fire a round right through the pest's spark chamber.

His whole body went rigid. SOMETHING was touching his interface panel. A small beige hand, against the red, creeping between Starscream's thighs. "Stop!" he yowled. "Get off! Stop that!"

"Is what you want, no?" The blue mech dangling from his hand grinned cheekily. "Getting you offs?"

"NO! What is WRONG with you?!" He tried to grab at the hand between his legs, but he was too late—his panel clicked open, and the fingers scrabbled at his valve cover. Starscream squirmed, trying to push his thighs closed, but his pelvic frame wasn't designed for that.

He shook the blue mech at the end of his arm like a naughty puppy. The Autobot sparked from his injured shoulder, but swung his legs, wrapping them around the jet's narrow waist, reaching behind him to manually release Starscream's spike.

"No! No! Stop!!!" Starscream pushed frantically at the blue mech, bicycling his legs, trying to get the beige hand away from his valve as well. He howled as the blue one planted his valve squarely on Starscream's spike, legs locked at the ankles behind the Decepticon. He grinned up at Starscream. "Is what you wanting, yes?"

"Oh! Looking like good idea!" said the voice behind him. Starscream gasped as something—a spike—pushed into his valve from behind, and orange forearms reached around his torso for his friend. The two gripped closely—pawing at each other around Starscream's torso, moving against him, on him, inside him. He writhed with discomfort. This was not how battles ended for the ever-victorious Starscream.

Then again, maybe they were simply…appreciating his skills. Maybe, even, they were so overcome by his magnetic personality that, well, really, the poor things had no choice. They were simply…overwhelmed by lust. And…it felt…really good, the both of them moving against him, hot ex-vents along his torso, his cockpit, the air intakes on his back…. He shuddered, midair, his own stabilizers cutting out for a klik, as his systems forced him into an overload, body quivering at the double stimulation. And he was suspended between the two of them, until their own overloads—the orange one's hot in his valve, almost scalding—cut their jets as well.

Not even really aware what he was doing, he wrapped a protective arm around the blue Autobot as they crashed through the trees.

They lay in a quivering mass of limbs for a long moment. "That," Starscream said, dizzily, "is enough worship for the moment." He flopped onto his back.

"Is not, I am thinking." The orange one clawed his way out from under the jet. He pulled the blue one into a kiss, running a gentle hand down the blue one's injured shoulder. "You are being okay, Jetstorm?"

"Fine," the blue one replied. "Jetfire. We are having…I think they say, unique opportunity?" He shot a glance down at Starscream, who lay still panting under the aftereffects of the double-overload.

"No!" Starscream protested. "I am not an opportunity! I am the rightful leader of the Decepticons! Get your filthy little hands off my—oohhhhhhhhhhh," His optics blanked as the orange one—Jetfire—closed his strangely warm hands around his spike

"Nice, yes?"

"Not as nice as yours, Jetstorm."

"Of course not! But you are remembering the medical bot. We are not to spike each other anymore."

"Yo—you're not?" Starscream gasped. He was pretty sure he didn't want to know, but he was trying anything to distract his mind from the uncomfortably intimate touches on his spike.

Jetstorm nodded. "Yes. Something about the sparklings? Or being nearness together?"

"I am thinking they were just jealous. And tired of catching us doing it when they were having nones."

Ohhhhh that was not an image that the true leader of the Decepticons (in exile) needed in his processor. And it was not helped when the two mechs began kissing over his body. "Now, look here, young bots," he struggled to sit up.

"Is better, I am thinking, when not talking," Jetfire said, and the orange mech crawled his way up Starscream's body, forcing Starscream's top-heavy shoulders back onto the ground, licking teasingly at Starscream's mouth. All the while, his twin's hands—both of them now, and this pair cool to the touch, twisting and pulling in opposition—were driving his spike to the point of madness.

"Stop!" he gasped around Jetfire's insistent mouth.

"Okey-dokey," Jetstorm said, and jerked his hands away. Starscream's body relaxed—he hadn't realized how tense he'd gotten. Now, a few vent cycles to regain a little composure, and he'd show these little perverts how to show some proper respect to their enemy.

"Nooooo!!!" he howled, feeling a soft cool glossa probe his valve. The orange mech shifted, straddling his neck, grinning down at him.

"Is good at this, is not?" Jetfire lazily unhoused his own spike, stroking it openly, inches from Starscream's face. Starscream writhed, trying to move his valve from the cool intrusion.

"MMMmm, brother," Jetstorm murmured, "You are tasting good with this one."

Starscream reached down with one hand to cover his valve, but somehow, and he wasn't quite sure how himself, his hand ended up behind Jetstorm's head, holding the Autobot's mouth to his valve, quivering with every contact. Almost as if the smaller mech sent electrical charges through the transfluid and lubricant. He groaned. This wasn't at all right.

His conscience, or his dignity, made one last half-hearted attempt to dislodge Jetstorm from his valve, bucking his hips to one side. But the Autobot clamped his hands around the jet's thighs, his glossa probing faster, lighter, sending quivering electrical shocks to his sensor nodes, almost like sending St Elmo's fire through his valve.

Starscream howled as another overload caught him. By the time he came to himself again, the blue mech had crawled up his body and had turned Jetfire's shoulders around, pulling his brother into a kiss that smeared silvery transfluid over their faces. Starscream shut his eyes. No. He was bigger, faster, stronger. Smarter. The only tactical advantage they had on him was perviness. Which they were definitely winning on. He cracked his eyes open. Over the spectacle of Jetfire's still-stroked spike, the two were still kissing. He groaned aloud. He was not going to win his way. He would have to fight by their methods. Fine. The ever victorious (and devastatingly handsome) Starscream would prevail. In the end.

He shoved up to siting, the two mechs tumbling into his lap. "You think you are a match for the magnificent Starscream?" He snatched Jetfire and threw him to the ground, shoving his legs apart with one hand. You can do this, Starscream. They are the enemy. You must defeat them. At their own devices. Yes. He dove down and took the warm spike in his mouth, delighted to hear the Autobot gasp in dismay. Ha! he thought. Who is winning in the perviness, now, Autobot scum?! No, wait, stop talking like them!

He ran his glossa down the spike, trilling along the sensor nodes. Jetfire moaned—a pleasant change, Starscream thought, from his previous smart mouth. All he could manage now was a random, "Yesss!" and "Is good!" Of course he was good. He was the multitalented Starscream! Did these Autobots know nothing?

He felt cool hands along his back, stroking the joins of his wings, pulling gently against the flap hinges. Oh that did feel good. So good, he almost didn't notice Jetstorm slide his spike into Starscream's valve. Oh, it was going to be like this, was it? Unfair odds? Starscream the victorious would overcome any odds. And…be…victoriuuuuu…. Eventually.

Jetstorm settled his hands on Starscream's hips, yanking the larger mech's aft back onto his spike, with his own contented noises. They were young and randy, which in this case worked to the illustrious Starscream's advantage, as their lust got the better of their self-control. With a yowl, the twins overloaded into the jet, quivered, and fell limp.

Starscream sat back on his heels, wiping his mouth. "Do you pathetic Autobots do everything together?" Really, this was taking teamwork a bit too far, if you asked him. His valve ached, unfulfilled, but it was merely one casualty in a very…weird battle.

"We are doing everything together," Jetstorm gasped.

"And everyone together, too," Jetfire added. "You are more fun than Sentinel Prime."

Starscream's energon boiled at that comment. More fun than Sentinel? A day in the slag mines was better than Sentinel Prime. "Of course I am!" he said, hotly.

"I am not convinced," Jetstorm said, his blue visor narrowing. "I am thinking Sentinel is a lot more, how they say, of the kinky?"

"Kinky?!" Starscream roared, outraged. "The only kink that blasted Autobot has in him is narcissism. He probably vids himself masturbating so he can watch it later!" Actually, wait. That wasn't a half-bad idea. Note to self: steal video equipment next run into Detroit.

"Really?" The twins had gotten onto their knees, and began crawling over to him. He was suddenly, just a little bit, afraid. But no. The splendiferous and munificent Starscream feared nothing! Not…even…two…pervy…whoooaaaa….

The twins pounced on him and it seemed that there weren't only two of them, but more like a dozen—hands and feet and hot mouths pawing him everywhere. "Wait!" he gasped. "Stop! The omnipotent Starscream commands you!"

Jetfire looked up from where he had settled to lick the Seeker's spike. "We are being Autobots. No commands from filthy Decepticons."

Jetstorm's head popped up around his brother's shoulder. "Nor were you asking the nicely." Starscream whimpered as the blue mech pushed two fingers into his valve.

"Nice," Jetfire said. "But I am wanting this now." He sat up, and settled himself across the larger jet's hips, taking his spike inside, pulling his brother's face up to kiss his. They fell backward, up Starscream's chassis, Jetstorm still working two fingers in the valve. Starscream squirmed. "Yes!" Jetfire broke the kiss to gasp. "More like that, yes!" Starscream stopped. He wasn't anyone's fool. He was in charge here and he took orders from none of them. Especially not undersized Autobots.

Jetstorm shook his head. "As I am telling you, brother, Not so much of the funs as Sentinel."

"FUNS!? I'll show you 'funs'!" Starscream howled. He pinned them to his torso with his arms, and began thrusting fiercely into Jetfire's valve. The orange mech made a suitably wanton series of moans and yelps, writhing until he shuddered into an overload. Starscream, the ever-temerarious kept thrusting—by that point simple biomechanics had taken over and his spike needed the overload. And what the spike of the radiant and versatile Starscream needed, it would get. Or Starscream wasn't the true leader of the Decepticons (though currently in exile awaiting his magnificent and opportunisti—TIMELY, erm, timely return).

Starscream reveled in another overload, an overload of pure victory over his pervy little enemies, though it left him panting and a little woozily.

"Enough 'funs' for now," he said, blearily, dropping his arms by his side. "The tenacious Starscream needs a recharge."

"Oh yes," Jetstorm whispered. "We are being very quiet for the nappings." He gestured to his brother, bracing his injured arm. They crept away into the forest, just far enough where the Decepticon wouldn't hear their takeoff. Or their laughter.

EPILOGUE

This was the last of the recording equipment, Starscream thought. And the mirrored disco ball would add a nice bit of ambiance to the cave. Turn it into a virile love nest, one truly worthy of Starscream the fantastic.

He was halfway home when a booming, strangely familiar voice stopped him. "Where are you having goings, evil Decepticon?" Oh, no.

"I am having goings away from you!" Without looking behind him, he kicked on his afterburners.

"Not so fast with the goings you are having," the voice said, and Starscream felt two hands grab at him from above.

"Not this time, you overgrown perverted slide rules!" He turned around, but instead of the two perkily irritating (and irritatingly perky) faces of the twins from before, he saw one face, bicolored, grinning cheekily down at him. Oh fantastic. The little freaks were a gestalt. Gestalts, he knew, normally got stupider when combined. He didn't know how far down that went. This one might be scraping the lower limit.

"Release me at once!" he ordered. "Cease molesting me, you filthy Autobot!"

"Molesting? We are not having molestings of you," Safeguard snickered. "Not yet." The hands crept down toward his thighs. "Maybe now."

"Not again!" The boxes tumbled from Starscream's hands. Drat, where would he get another disco ball!?

"Yes, again!" One hand clutched at the interface hatch, the other pulling his face in for a kiss.

Blaaaaa!!! Two glossas probed at his own, intruding in his mouth like hot little worms. He pushed against the mech's torso—at least combined they were closer to his size and not as easily able to dodge the fearsome strikes of the intrepid Starscream. "Get off me, you perverts," the immortal and adorable Starscream tried to yell, but the sound was muffled by these infernal twin glossas, and the hand pressing his helm hard against them.

The other hand seized his spike, coaxing it to pressurize. "Am wanting this," the gestalt said.

"No," it then said. "Am wanting the other again." Starscream felt one of the gestalt's legs pry his apart, rubbing the thigh armor against his valve cover, the friction causing it to retract.

"This!" The hand squeezed the spike hard enough to elicit a yelp from the valiant Starscream (who is a little bit of a wuss about pain).

"No! I am wanting THIS!" and with a hard thrust, a large spike planted itself in his valve. Starscream gasped. Even the indomitable Starscream had his limits, and the gestalt's oversized spike was apparently one of them. He cried out, the spike stretching his valve, hitting all of the sensory pickups at once.

"I think we are making hurtings of him." The hand still clutched at his spike. "This will be makings better." The hand stroked the impeccable Starscream's magnificent spike.

"No, brother. This is makings better." The spike slide in his valve, though slower this time, lubricant glossing down over the nodes. Starscream trembled, frozen, overwhelmed (it can happen! He was merely immortal and invincible, but not immune to lust!) by the rush of sensations from his overstretched valve. The hand coaxing at his spike added to the rise of lust. He forgot all about his broken recording equipment; all about how the magnificent Starscream would conquer all, and arched back, closing his eyes so as not to see the freaky little combined face grinning at him, flicking its double glossas at him lasciviously, and to quiver into the sensation. The spike seemed hot and cold by turns, sending his sensors into a confused shudder that wracked his body and his composure.

"See, better at makings better I am."

"No, I am the better!" The hand started working his spike more determinedly.

"Shut up," Starscream muttered, "More with the makings and less with the talkings."

"See, is as I am telling you!" Safeguard whispered to itself. "And he is much more fun than Sentinel."

That was the final push Starscream needed—his systems spilled an overload across his sensornet, transfluid spurting across all three of their chassis, his valve clutching at the huge spike inside him. The gestalt's entire frame shuddered, energon rippling in sparks across the seam of their joining, as it overloaded into the valve, hot and cold transfluid swirling a final shudder of lust through Starscream's system.

"We win," Safeguard smirked down at Starscream, releasing him. The spike withdrew. The gestalt sought to tease the jet with one last swipe with its hand across the valve. "Oh no, brother!" It held the hand up to its face, alarmed at a bluish fluid swirled among the clear lubricant and silver transfluid. "You have made with the breakings!"

Starscream smirked. Stupid Autobots. "No," he said, wrapping his legs around the gestalt. "I am merely going into heat. And how convenient," the lubricious and finally, FINALLY, victorious Starscream whispered into the gestalt's audio, "That you are right here to help."


	2. Loyalty: Sunstorm and Thundercracker

_This one's still in progress: The kink request is for the fanon-fave method of Megatron having his Decepticons prove their loyalty to him…that way (I suspect that's what REALLY was going on in that Mixmaster/Scrapper episode) (Hands over brain bleach). Here's the first third. Enjoy the weird._

Megatron sighed. Some duties of leadership were…unpleasant. Such as this, but it was, alas, time honored Decepticon tradition. Left over when he had the inclination—and endurance—for this sort of thing. To be honest, his resurrection in Sumdac Tower had been complete, yes, but he hadn't really felt like…testing that equipment just yet. Nonetheless, the Decepticon forces were too scattered across the rim of the galaxy, and he needed a solid core of loyal warriors. Lugnut was fine, but he was only one. And not that bright, charitably speaking.

On the other hand, Starscream's clones all seemed to share at least a large portion of his intelligence along with many of his other, more irritating, qualities. Megatron hoped that somewhere on some of the muddle of their thinly-formed character, he could imprint some form of loyalty to himself.

"Whom shall we try first?" he asked Shockwave. Another of his loyal warriors, but alas, only one. Megatron felt a surge of regret that Shockwave hadn't been the one to clone himself. Then again, of course, Starscream's motivation hadn't been to pursue the Decepticon cause. Megatron enjoyed the delicious irony that if there was a mech extant who wanted to interface with him even more than Lugnut (if that was possible, that is, without violating the laws of physics) it was Shockwave. Shockwave's antlers quivered with barely-suppressed emotion as he consulted his datapad.

"My lord, I might suggest Sunstorm? He appears to have inherited Starscream's obsequiousness."

"Hrm." Well, for the first interface in ages, perhaps a little fawning wouldn't be amiss. Certainly would obviate any possible…arousal errors. Megatron did not think it a character flaw to like hearing his subordinates recognize his obvious superiority. "What do we know about this one beyond that?"

"He's the gaudy one," Shockwave said, a tad disapproving. His own coloring was much more subdued and, he thought, quite tasteful. "I suspect the nonstop compliments will grow tedious."

"I shall," Megatron smirked, "try to endure. Yes. Schedule him for this evening."

*****

Sunstorm fell to his knees as soon as he crossed the threshold and spotted Megatron. He scuttled along the floor, still on his knees, to get within what was presumably prime groveling range. Neat trick, Megatron thought. Others shall have to learn this.

"Oh Megatron, magnificent leader! It is an honor merely to bask in your presence! I am unworthy."

"You probably are," Megatron agreed. "But you are here to better prove yourself."

Sunstorm sat up, clasping his hands together rapturously. "No one else splits an infinitive with such bold disregard for Strunk and White! Truly you are an exemplary leader."

Megatron blinked. What? Did the mech just criticize his grammar? "Yes, well," he continued, a little more carefully. "You shall have a chance to prove yourself more worthy of my regard."

Sunstorm flopped to his belly, his cockpit ringing against the floor. "Oh, a lowly worm such as myself could never hope to be worthy in your eyes, fearless and puissant leader of all Decepticons."

Well, that sounded a bit better. Megatron did like a good adjective, particularly when applied to himself. Puissant. He liked the ring of that. "Are you saying you would not even like the chance to try to prove yourself?"

"Oh no!" Sunstorm genuflected. "I fear that I will only disappoint the paragon of virtue that is your mighty self."

As pleasantly obsequious as that sounded, Megatron nonetheless found himself getting impatient. Sunstorm was here for a reason. A very sticky reason. And Megatron wanted to get past the feeling out and into the feeling up parts. Especially the part about feeling up his parts. "We shall perhaps see about that." He leaned forward, hauling Sunstorm up by one shoulder.

"I am unworthy of this honor!" Sunstorm squeaked, as Megatron ran a skillful hand over the spread of one of his wings.

"Yes," Megatron sighed, "you probably are. But you're getting it anyway." The yellow mech collapsed against Megatron's chassis, kissing Megatron's Decepticon brand cringe-ingly. Well, this was progress, at least.

"Oh!" Sunstorm gushed, between slurpy kisses, "You are a magnificent specimen! Perfect! So virile! So commanding!"

Yes, yes, Megatron thought, get on with it. To give the mech a hint, he dragged one of the saffron-colored hands to his interface hatch. Sunstorm licked his way down Megatron's narrowed waist toward the panel. Much better, Megatron thought. A seeker, on his knees, between my legs. Yes. Very, very nice.

Sunstorm hesitated, his long hands stroking down Megatron's thighs.

Megatron cocked his head aggressively. "Well, go on."

Sunstorm sucked in a breath, his optics wide and round as he reverently opened the hatch. "Ooooohhhhhhhhhh," he breathed. "Such a magnificent hatch!"

Megatron rolled his optics, but by this point, the flattery and his foreknowledge of how this was going to end (very stickily) were eating away at his patience. His spike's lubricant leaked from around the edges of the seal. Sunstorm "ooooooohhhhhhh"'d again, tracing the edges of the cover until it retracted.

"That," the yellow mech proclaimed, "is the most resplendent spike I have ever seen." It crossed Megatron's mind to wonder exactly how many spikes the little sapsucker had actually seen, but since things seemed to finally be rolling in the appropriate vector, he didn't want to derail.

Until, of course, the jet seemed inclined to sit and stare at it—slightly cross-eyed—all day. The cool air stung the lubricant on the spike. "You may," Megatron said, waving his hand, lordly, "touch it." As Sunstorm extended one orangey hand to trace the under-nodes, Megatron nodded to himself. Yes. He was handling this one quite well. He knew this side of Starscream perfectly.

Without an invitation, proving to Megatron that he was definitely on the right track, Sunstorm bowed his head and took the spike into his mouth. Megatron gave a shuddering sigh, scraping his aft forward along the throne, spreading his legs. Yes.

"Is this," Sunstorm paused, "good enough?"

Well, it was until you STOPPED! Megatron wanted to yell. Instead, he said, "I need more of a…sample of your skills." He leaned back. "Impress me."

Apparently the right words. Sunstorm settled his mouth around the spike, working the lubricant into the spike's complicated contours with his eager glossa. The fingers of one hand teased against Megatron's valve cover.

Megatron grunted as his overload systems kicked on. It had been a while, and it took a few kliks for the nodes to warm up enough to hold a charge, much less let one build. The prickling sensation of the awakening nodes was indescribably good. He wanted to push the mech's head down, but there was no point—he was doing a fine job as it was. And to be honest, Megatron just wanted to enjoy the sensation. It was always a fight when Starscream did this—a battle of wills, an awareness of the clever flyer's devious mind thinking unpleasant thoughts. This, Megatron could simply lay back and enjoy.

And enjoy he did. He almost regretted the sudden bucking of his hips, the rush of transfluid through his spike—the liquid so hot it almost felt like it was burning against the newly resurrected tubes. Well, if this had been a test of his interface/overload systems, it was an unqualified success. He groaned as Sunstorm pulled up suction against the spike, pulling the last of the fluid out, before releasing the spike to lean his cheek against Megatron's thigh.

"Do I meet your approval?" he asked. Again, those words from Starscream would have been painfully snide. These were almost painfully fawning. Megatron patted the mech's head, wiping away with one finger a stray drop of transfluid. He could get used to this.

"That was…sufficient."

*****

"An-and how did it go last night?" Shockwave asked with reluctance. He needed to know for his report, but he didn't want to know.

Megatron paused to consider, his chin in hand. "Enjoyable." He watched Shockwave's antlers droop, with a smirk. "But so much sycophancy," he added, "just too much." The antlers dipped again, before straightening. Shockwave decided he wouldn't ever have 'too much' sycophancy. All of his praises of Megatron were entirely sincere. It struck him suddenly that if he viewed these reports as research, in the end he might better know how to approach—and pleasure—Megatron himself.

Shockwave straightened, heartened. "So whom shall you try tonight, my lord?"

Megatron chuckled. "You make it sound like a buffet."

"Is it not?" Good. Keep thinking of them as things.

"Hrm, well, I have had enough fawning. And while it was certainly enjoyable—make a note, Shockwave, that he sucks a good spike," (Shockwave made the note twice, once on his official datapad and once in his memory cortex), "I feel the need for a little more…active participation."

Shockwave consulted his list. "Thundercracker, perhaps?"

"Which one is he?"

"My lord, he is the one who has inherited—most unfortunately—Starscream's ego."

Megatron's optics glittered. "Oh yes. Perfect."

*****

Thundercracker strode haughtily into Megatron's recharge berth as though he were entering territory he'd already conquered. 'As if', as the humans say, Megatron thought. He tried to look down his nose at Megatron, seated casually on the berth. That only works, Megatron thought, if you have a nose to look down.

Which Megatron did. Proof of his superiority.

"So you," Thundercracker sneered, "are the fearsome leader Megatron? I cannot say that I'm impressed."

"The feeling is mutual, cheap clone," Megatron retorted. Oh, Shockwave had been right as to what Thundercracker had inherited.

"Cheap?! Clone?!!!" Thundercracker howled in outrage. "I am the original! The others are knock offs of me. Of course," he said, philosophically, "they say imitation is the highest form of flattery, so I let them. And if you were so great, where are your clones?"

My clones? "I don't need half-processored clones to make me feel powerful by comparison."

"Neither do I!" Thundercracker tossed his head, "It merely amuses me to watch them try."

"Yeeesss," Megatron said, through narrowed optics. "I see."

Thundercracker did a circuit of the room. "I am deserving of accommodations such as this. Why was I given merely a basic recharge cube? It is unfitting of my status."

"What status?" Megatron leaned back against the berth's headboard, folding his arms across his chassis.

"My statu--?" Thundercracker gaped at Megatron's obvious stupidity. "I am the rightful leader of the Decepticons!"

"Oh, right," Megatron snickered. "I somehow forgot about that. Must have slipped my mind, you know, running the war and all." Thundercracker was irritating, but Megatron could see how needling Thundercracker could be his new favorite hobby. Hrmmmm, perhaps he could needle Thundercracker while Sunstorm….. Ahem! Back to the matter at hand.

Nothing fazed Thundercracker. "Yes, you are merely a placeholder until my magnificent return. So, here, I have returned." He made shooing gestures with his hands. "You may go."

"Not…quite." Thundercracker, Megatron thought, was skating on a very thin line between amusing and dead.

Thundercracker rolled his eyes. "Oh, very well, Yes, yes thank you for your noble service to the Decepticon cause, your efforts have been much appreciated. Better?"

Megatron rose from the berth, approaching the blue jet where he stood near one of Megatron's trophy racks. "Not better." He jerked Thundercracker against him, the jet's cockpit banging his chassis.

"How dare you lay a hand on me!" Thundercracker recoiled, optics wide with horror. He dug his sharp talons under Megatron's fingers, trying to pry them off. Megatron grinned, and tightened his grip on the jet's forearm.

"I'll lay more than a hand on you, if I wish," Megatron said, coolly. He leaned over and bit the thin scales of armor over Thundercracker's throat. The blue mech shivered, but had the audacity to shove Megatron away.

"Do NOT touch me, you filth!"

Megatron's temper flared a little hotter. Filth? He would show this impertinent blue clone a thing or two. And a few things that he probably should have shown Starscream.

"Filth," Megatron purred, dangerously. "I am filth? You do not want me to touch you?" He swung the jet by the arm across the room. Thundercracker stumbled heavily against the berth. By the time he rolled over and got his feet under him, Megatron was looming over him. "Try to stop me." Please, Megatron thought, wickedly. Try. Do try.

Thundercracker swung a leg in a kick at Megatron's head. The silver mech deflected the blow off his cannon, grinning down at Thundercracker. "Is that all you have to fight me with?" He tsked. "So sad."

"You are…" Thundercracker foundered, "simply not worth my effort to fend off."

"Really." Megatron's supraorbital ridge disappeared under his helm. "Maybe I shall make it worth your effort." He ran a rough hand over the jet's interface hatch, smirking as the legs kicked weakly at him. "You," he added, "have all the fighting force of an anemic earth-kitten."

"A…uh…a good leader needs to know how to lead. Not…erm…fight." Thundercracker swung his fist at Megatron's head.

"Ahhhh, yes," Megatron said, catching the fist and driving it back, grinning as he heard the elbow servos whine into failure. "Because that worked so well last time."

"You can't do this to me…," Thundercracker said, weakly, as Megatron flipped open the hatch.

"Odd: It appears that I am doing this to you. Tell me, Thundercracker," Megatron gloated, "how is that possible?" The valve cover snapped open under his hand.

"I—uh…secretly wanted you to?" Thundercracker pushed onto his elbows, gaining confidence. "Yes, that's it. I wanted you to do this. You have simply fallen right in line with my plot. Insignificant intellect to compare with my own genius."

Oh this was too much. Megatron had thought the constant slavish praise was irritatingly arousing? This mech's pure slippery ego just brought out a kind of tingly dark desire in the Decepticon leader. The true one. The one who knew how to fight.

"Of course," he agreed. "And following that, I suppose you also want me to do THIS." He drove his spike into the mech's valve, grinding his pelvic crest against the other mech. Thundercracker moaned, squirming against the berth. "Yes?" Megatron asked. "Is this what you wanted, O great leader of the Decepticons?"

"That will," Thundercracker gasped, "do nicely."

"Oh, but I am not done 'doing' you," Megatron said, slyly. "I mean, such a powerful leader. Soooo much charisma. Honestly, I can't help myself." He began driving his spike in rapid sharp thrusts into the valve.

"Really," Thundercracker whimpered, "so much praise is unnecessary."

"Oh, I find it entirely necessary," Megatron said, pausing just long enough for Thundercracker to squirm. He'd felt the mech's valve nodes picking up a charge. He could pretend to aloofness, but Megatron knew better.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" Thundercracker cried out as Megatron resumed his motion, but slooooowly, this time, dragging his spike with agonizing slowness over the nodes.

"And they always did say," Megatron growled, the rising charge in his spike distracting him, "that actions speak louder than words."

Megatron grunted as the blue mech's valve seized around his spike in an overload. The spiraling grip was almost painful against his spike nodes. Almost painful. And Megatron did like liminal experiences. Except that half-death one. He gritted his denta against the stimulation, holding out for…just…a few…kliks…longer, before the overload resisted his attempts to control it and tore across his systems.

He pulled out, abruptly, enjoying the slick wash of transfluid and lubricant against his spike, over the jet's valve and thighs. "Now, would you care to reconsider who is really in charge here?"

"Ha!" Thundercracker said, weakly. "You had to do all the work. I win."

*****

Shockwave shook his head. "Since he was the one with the arrogance, I suspect that is the only time you shall have to endure such…impudence." The very thought of the blue clone's insolence made Shockwave's energon boil. How dare anyone, much less a copy of that narcissistic wretch Starscream dare talk to Megatron like that? More disturbing, however, to Shockwave's equilibrium, was the sated look on Megatron's face. That he had somehow enjoyed the escapade.

Megatron smiled, darkly. "Oh it was enjoyable, in its place, Shockwave. But I would like something a little less challenging for this evening." He had greatly enjoyed, it turned out, putting the blue clone in his place. But as a result, he was a little…exhausted. He wanted less of an exertion tonight.

Hmmmm, yes. Less challenging. Shockwave consulted his datapad. He felt his Longarm face frown, even though his real face had no emotion. Somehow, however, Megatron picked up on his reaction.

"Already," Megatron asked, "scraping the bottom of the barrel? Why am I not surprised?"

"My lord, it is Starscream we are talking about."

Megatron idly tapped his cheek. "Yes. So. Who would be the least like that pompous aft?"

Another consultation of the datapad. "Skywarp, my lord?" Eeeeesh, they really were diminishing rapidly in quality. "I suggest him because he has a special ability that may prove useful to us in combat."

"A part of Starscream that is actually useful in combat?" Megatron said, dubiously.

"He can teleport, my lord."

Megatron barked out a laugh. "Of course—no one runs away faster than Starscream. Except, perhaps, his clone." He tilted his head, considering. "Yes, Shockwave, you are absolutely correct." Shockwave preened. "Such an ability is definitely an asset we should guarantee for our side. Now," he gave an aggrieved sigh, "dare I ask what part of Starscream he inherited?"


	3. Loyalty: Skywarp and Slipstream

Shockwave accompanied Skywarp to Megatron's quarters, torn between apprehension and desire. The black mech he was leading seemed fairly solid on his emotional choice—knee-knocking terror. But Shockwave was to see his leader's berth for the first time. He was glad his sole golden optic revealed nothing of the lust mixed with dismay (must he really drop off another clone for Megatron to interface with?) boiling in his cortex.

"Gah!" Skywarp squealed as the door opened to the brightly lit interior of Megatron's recharge. "retinal meltage!"

"The lighting is adequate and within safe parameters," Shockwave said, neutrally, prodding the jet into the room. Skywarp looked around him, fearfully, yelping at the weapons displayed on the wall, whimpering something about papercuts at the stack of tactical maps on the side table, and scuttling back against Shockwave's torso as he caught sight of Megatron, seated as unimposingly as he could manage, on a chair. Shockwave caught him by his upper arms in his claws.

"My lord, this is Skywarp."

Megatron blinked, as if to say 'are you serious?'. Shockwave nodded, sadly. Well, Megatron had said he wanted something without fight. Here was the least-fight of the clones, gibbering in Shockwave's clutches.

"Skywarp," Megatron acknowledged with a nod. "Thank you, Shockwave, that will be all."

Dismissed. Shockwave had mixed feelings: he certainly didn't want to see what happened next. The longer he stayed, the longer he delayed the inevitable. "My lord, one last thing. You will notice that he wears a stasis cuff on his wrist. It is in your best interest not to remove the cuff, as it inhibits his…ability."

Megatron nodded. "Yes, all right. Now. That will be all," he repeated a little more forcefully. Skywarp shrank against Shockwave at the tone.

Shockwave released Skywarp with a 'I wash my hands of this' gesture, rolling his one optic as Skywarp's leg stabilizers failed and the black jet collapsed in a trembling pile on the floor. He told himself that getting Skywarp's loyalty was essential. And he hoped that Megatron saw it the same way. Certainly Megatron couldn't find anything actually…desirable in that wretch?

*****

Megatron made sure to code the door locks before he scooted off the chair and onto the floor. It would entirely ruin his image as the fearsome leader were anyone to see him doing this. Acting, he told himself. He'd studied acting back in school as a sparkling, which he'd gone on to put to excellent use in his own highly successful (he deemed) brand of diplomacy. This was just a different challenge for his acting chops.

"Hello there," he said, gently. The words sounded foolish and odd from his vocalizer. He folded his legs under him, moving in front of Skywarp. "You're Skywarp, yes?"

"Y-yes. Unless-unless I did something wrong." Skywarp snatched one of his wings in front of him like a shield. "Please don't kill me!"

Megatron managed what he hoped was an indulgent chuckle. "Why would I kill you?"

"Because," Skywarp whispered from behind his wing. "you're scary!"

Megatron's ego preened, even more than with Sunstorm. This was sincere, if not praise. And 'scary'? Well, it was no 'puissant,' but it would do. "I'm only scary to mechs who have done things to make me angry. Tell me, Skywarp, have you done anything to make me angry?"

The optics squeezed shut. "Yes," Skywarp whimpered, "Just now!" A puddle of coolant spread on the floor from under the mech.

Oh, dear Primus. How was Megatron ever going to turn this pansy into any sort of asset for the Decepticon forces? He quashed the flare of disgust before it made it to his face. "Oh, you poor thing," he cooed. "Let us clean you up." He'd worry about coming up with a story about the puddle for the cleaning bots…later.

"Clean is good," Skywarp said, hopefully. "Germs are scary."

"Yes, yes," Megatron said impatiently. He rose to his feet, extending his hands to help Skywarp up. As the black jet took his hands, he felt a surge of triumph. See? This wasn't so hard at all. He led the jet slowly to his maintenance facility, patiently stepping between the mech and anything the mech considered 'too scary', such as the stuffed Quintesson head he had hung on the wall, or the crack in the plasmetal floor from where he'd once…administered a lesson in proper respect to Starscream.

"Solvent, not scary?" he asked, his hand on the taps. Skywarp nodded, urgently.

"As—as long as it's not too hot! It expands the wiring. Or too cold—hypothermia! Or…,"

Megatron cut off what sounded like an impossibly tedious list of things he'd never thought of as hidden horrors in the simple act of self-maintenance. "We'll try this." He set the cleanser on just above room temperature, and gestured Skywarp under the taps.

"You---you're watching me!" Skywarp hesitated, toying nervously with the stasis cuff on his left wrist. "I—I'm shy."

"Of course I'm watching you," Megatron said, at the end of his patience. "You're a very attractive little mech." Who didn't like a compliment? And he was eager to move things along—since Sunstorm had awakened his overload systems, they had become interested in…making up for lost time.

Skywarp ducked behind the maint fac sidewall. "Are you a pervert?" he whispered, eyes wide.

Well. Yes. Of course he was. But. "Of course not." Had this mech never interfaced? It was getting harder and harder to imagine. "Take your cleanse, Skywarp. I won't look." Megatron needed time to plan a new approach. He turned his back, showily. "In fact, I shall guard the door for you." Skywarp looked immeasurably grateful at the offer. Hrm. That might be his next strategy.

Skywarp finished rinsing himself off and shut the taps off. Megatron kept his optics staunchly averted until he couldn't figure out what the black mech was doing back there. He turned his head. "Are you finished?"

"Yes."

"What are you doing? May I look?"

"I-I am drying the cleansing facility. If you don't," Skywarp said, matter-of-factly, "germs proliferate. And germs are—"

"Scary, yes." Megatron sighed. Though he had to admit that the black jet on his hands and knees on the floor was definitely giving him ideas. Pervert ideas, of course. Perhaps it was only perverted if he insisted upon the maid costume? Oh, who the frag cared? The seeker frames were attractive (which fact Starscream had used a little too often to his own advantage), and Megatron was feeling frisky and that wiggling little aft as Skywarp scrubbed the floor of the maintenance fac was just too irresistible.

Megatron slicked a hand over Skywarp's hips. Oh he did like these jet frames. He grinned as Skywarp's body shuddered.

"Whu-what are you doing?" Skywarp's scrubbing stopped.

"I? I am merely removing some germs." The wuss had a phobia for germs that might short circuit his common sense.

The jet relaxed. "Thank you. Germs are very scary."

"Tell me, Skywarp," Megatron said, grabbing a cleansing rag and showily rubbing it against the jet's armor. "Have you ever interfaced?"

The frame went rigid. "In—interface? Do you know how scary that is?!?"

"It's not that scary," Megatron said. His spike thumped against its cover, oozing lubricant. He swabbed against the interface panel. "Germs," he explained, as Skywarp whimpered again. "So…how do you know how scary it is?"

"I—I've done it. Enough to know it's scary."

"Hmmmm," Megatron hummed. "How much is that?" He snicked open the interface panel.

"Uhhh, a few times. What are you doing?" Skywarp tried to look back over his shoulder but his wing got in the way.

"Me? Oh, I suspect you didn't properly clean your interface equipment. I thought I'd help out."

"That's—uhhh, very kind of you?" Skywarp squeaked at the end. "Are you sure you're not a pervert?" he asked, his voice very, very small.

Megatron seized the jet by the hips. "Of course not," he said, smugly, "Perverts are scary." He snapped open his own hatch, freeing his lubricated spike, and sliding it into Skywarp's valve.

"Oh!" Skywarp cried out, his hips bucking down away from Megatron. Megatron grunted as the action put firm pressure on his upper nodes. "There are no germs there!" Skywarp whispered, desperately.

"Aren't there? Have you checked recently?" Megatron lifted the jet's hips gently, reseating his spike.

"No…."

"Does it hurt?"

"Well, not exactly." Megatron waited. "It feels…good?"

"Then, how could it be scary?"

"Because feeling good is scary!" Skywarp said, definitively.

"Why?" Seriously, it felt like he was talking to a child. Still, he didn't mind the chance to be a little less rough than he had been the night before. Variety, as they say, is the spice of life.

"Because you lose control…." Skywarp's voice trailed off into a soft, rising moan.

Megatron drew his spike slowly in and out of the jet's valve, grunting pleasurably as the valve's nodes tingled against his. He kept up this slow pace, feeling his spike release another dollop of lubricant, as Skywarp trembled beneath him. The jet's trembling caused his valve to vibrate against Megatron's spike, deliciously. Megatron felt his core temp rise, and the charge build across his nodes, faster than he wanted.

He intended to enjoy this, especially as Skywarp's valve quivered against him. See? Nothing to be afraid of, Megatron thought. He kept his pace slow and even, although he wanted nothing more than to pound the slag out of the valve. The transfluid built up a pressure behind his spike that was almost too much to bear. Almost.

Finally his spike could take no more and released its fluid in a rush that sent white sparkles across Megatron's sensor net. Skywarp cried out as the hot fluid hit the top of his valve, his elbow servos quivering near failure. Oh, wonderful, Megatron congratulated himself. I know just how to handle this one.

He ground his pelvis against Skywarp, goading his spike to repressurize. The jet bleated.

Megatron relented. Yes, he wanted more, but perhaps he was too aggressive. He simply wasn't used to having to play games to get what he wanted. Especially not silly games like this. "See," he offered instead, bending over and stroking the broad, trembling wings, "Skywarp, honestly, that wasn't that scary, was it?"

"Yes it was," the jet contradicted. "Terrifying."

Megatron moued. "You see? You didn't lose control. Everything's fine. Trust me." He could feel his spike already (already!!) repressurizing, remembering the vibration of the terrified valve against his spike. He'd love to feel the jet's overload.

"Trust you?" Skywarp said, dropping his head bashfully.

"Trust me," Megatron repeated. If I win him over this way, he'll do anything for me. Teleportation and all. "Now, what can I do to convince you?"

The optics turned to him were wide and innocent and entirely naïve. "Honestly?"

"Of course." He growled inwardly, expecting he'd have to spend the next megacycle cuddling the damn jet. Reading him a bedtime story. Getting him a stuffed toy. All to get what he wanted. Well, he would get what he wanted. It was…character-building, he told himself, to deal with a little frustration. He nodded encouragingly as Skywarp wriggled up to his knees.

And then.

BAM! Megatron's vent cycle was knocked off rhythm as he landed hard on his back, the black jet looming over him, optics blazing crazy red, a snarl on his face. He felt a knee thrust his legs apart, and then the unaccustomed presence of a spike in his valve. No one spiked Megatron!

Except, apparently, Skywarp, who had probably been cowering under a rock and didn't get that memo. The jet had Megatron's arms pinned by his audio, squeezing against the wrists hard enough to send redline alarms to Megatron's sensors. The spike plunged into his valve with a ferociousness he didn't think the jet had in him. Did Starscream have this strange domination trait as well? It must be recessive. Very, very recessive.

"Why, Skywarp," he gasped, determined to reassert control over this situation. "This is most unexpected."

"Is it?" the black jet snarled down at him. "Know what else was unexpected? You ramming my valve." He thrust harder. "You. Thinking. I'm. STUPID. GAH!" Skywarp's spike jerked in Megatron's valve, jetting almost scalding hot transfluid against the top node. Megatron howled, his valve clutching at the spike.

He tried to kick at Skywarp, The clone wrestled with him for a moment, finally pinning Megatron's thigh with one knee. "Not stupid to be afraid!" he hissed. "Told you about losing control!"

"Yes, I…uh, I see that now," Megatron said.

He thought the black jet would stop, but Skywarp merely leaned over him more closely, his exvents hot on Megatron's face. "You were making fun of me. Taking advantage of me. AND, you're a pervert!" Skywarp began thrusting again, his narrow hips fitting easily between Megatron's.

"You're not?" Megatron countered, looking down at their connected bodies.

"I AM NOT A PERVERT!" Skywarp bellowed, thrusting viciously against Megatron.

Megatron had to admit that Skywarp's spike felt good. In a way he did not want to admit, honestly. Especially because it was becoming alarmingly clear to him that Skywarp was…not all there mentally. A little unbalanced. Maybe it was part of Megatron's fascination with danger that made this feel so good.

The slickness, the frictional heat, the rising prickling charge across his nodes…. And unlike with Thundercracker, he didn't have to do anything. Just…lie back. This wasn't bad. Why didn't he do this more often? He closed his eyes, relaxing into the experience as Skywarp overloaded again, his body shuddering against Megatron, pushing the valve into another delicious, shivering overload. This wasn't going at all as he'd planned. He'd lost control of the situation to Skywarp, who had lost control of…himself apparently, and who showed no sign at all of stopping. Megatron groaned at the slippery transfluid leaking from his valve, at Skywarp's hands hard against his wrists, at the abrasion of the jet's cockpit against his chassis.

This, he decided, was Shockwave's fault.

*****

Shockwave bore the brunt of Megatron's lecture, his antlers drooping low. How could he not have seen that? Poor research! Had he merely been pretending, as Megatron accused, of being an actual intelligence officer? How could his information have been so wrong?

He had another reason to be ashamed, as well: he had lurked around Megatron's quarters all night, shamelessly eavesdropping. He hadn't heard everything but he had heard…enough. Megatron's ecstatic cries, the snarling growl that had to be Skywarp. When he'd finally dragged himself back to his recharge he was so aroused that his spike ached all night But for his failure to forewarn Megatron, he did not allow his spike, or himself, any release.

"I do regret, most sincerely," he said, abjectly, "the unfortunate oversight." He winced.

"Oversight." Megatron's voice was dangerously calm, as he leaned back in his command chair. It would actually have been less intimidating had Megatron flung the word at him in a scream, ripping off one of his antlers for good measure.

"Lapse," Shockwave hastily corrected. "It was entirely my failing."

"Hmmm," Megatron watched him for a moment, seeing—what? "Well, what's past can't be changed," he said, eventually, though Shockwave suspected he was hiding behind the aphorism something rather unpleasant. "But let us hope—let YOU hope—there shall be no such lapses tonight."

"Are—you are determined to continue this?"

Megatron stiffened. "Certainly. I need their loyalty. And I am not one to abandon a mission, no matter how faulty and slipshod my intelligence work."

Shockwave winced again, his shoulders banging his audio. "Yes…well, tonight, my lord, what is your preference?"

"My preference is that you pick a clone whom you can affirm is not psychotic."

Well, chances are there was only one of them. Shockwave hoped. "Perhaps the femme would be to your taste?"

"Femme, hmmmm," Megatron considered. "What is it these femmes like?"

"Oh, I suppose the usual things, my lord. Flowers, music, jewelry." Shockwave frowned. He did not fancy Megatron showering any mech (other than himself) with these things. "Romance," he squeaked.

Megatron eyed him curiously. "Romance," he echoed.

"Y-yes, my lord," Shockwave mumbled, holding his datapad up in front of his face.

"Fine," Megatron said. "I think I might enjoy this." His optics narrowed. 'You'd better hope I do."

"Yes, my lord," Shockwave squeaked.

*****

Slipstream entered Megatron's recharge on what had to be the tiniest feet Megatron had ever seen. Amazing how she balanced on those things, much less how they were powerful enough as jets to keep her aloft. He decided he might consider developing a foot fetish. Well, with her feet. Shockwave's feet left something to be desired. However, Lugnut's…no, wait, task at hand.

"Slipstream," he said, suavely, "enter." He sat on his chair, long legs crossed at the ankle in front of him

"I already have, you doofus," she said, tartly.

Megatron blinked. Well, that was unexpected. Then again, maybe she was simply unused to getting this kind of attention. The kind she deserved, and the kind Megatron was so, so very able to administer. "Well, then," he said, gesturing to the chair across from him, a small table between them, "have a seat, my dear."

She sighed, aggrieved, and stomped over to the chair, flopping herself in it, arms dangling over the arm rests. "What now?"

Clearly this abrasive personality was merely a front—something she'd had to develop to keep herself safe from the pernicious advances of his other mechs. A femme this lovely surely had problems with too many and too crass suitors. She would learn she could let that act down with Megatron. So long as she gave him her loyalty. "Now? I suggest we merely enjoy each others' company."

She glared at him for a long moment, her dainty little toes marking some kind of time against the floor. "Okay," she said, "Enough of that. Now what?"

Femmes, Megatron decided, have earned their literary reputation of being difficult. Well, perhaps a little energon would smooth things over. Social lubricant and all. He reached to pour her a cube. "Energon?"

"Finally!" She snatched the cube from his hand. Before he could raise his own with a suitable romantic toast, she'd slugged the cube down, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. And reached for his. "Good stuff," she said, at last, when he didn't immediately hand over his cube. "I like a mech with good taste in energon."

Now we're getting somewhere. Megatron handed over the cube and watched her toss the second one back. What part of feminine nature was this? Still, if it loosened her inhibitions and took the edge of her personality, what more could he ask?

"Heeeey," Slipstream said, running a hand over her chassis. "You're kinda cute, aren't ya?"

Megatron stiffened. He was handsome, yes. Rugged, perhaps. Dashing, definitely. But cute? And only 'kinda' cute? He felt vaguely offended.

She tried to place the cube back on the table, missing the edge entirely. The cube clattered on the floor. "Ooops!" she giggled. "Lemme get that." She scooted off the edge of the chair, scrambling for the cube.

Megatron sat up, watching her grab for the cube. To be honest, watching her tight little frame wiggle around on the floor. He had a vaguely disturbing flashback to Skywarp. No, this one couldn't be that crazy. He reached a hand to help her up, but she fell against his leg.

"Oh slag," she said, giggling. "Some of it spilled on you." She buried her mouth in his knee joint. Megatron gasped at the intrusion of the warm glossa under his patellar armor. And her small hands, creeping around his legs. This didn't seem very romantic, at all, but things were still going in the right direction.

The right direction being his interface hatch. Which was where she was headed next. "My dear," he said, trying to pull her up. A romantic kiss would be nice, he decided.

"No, no," she mumbled. "I got it. My mess, I'll clean it up!" She licked her way up one thigh, giggling softly as Megatron's body quivered. "Definitely cute," she amended.

She flicked open his interface panel.

"I, uh, I do not think any of it spilled in there, my dear Slipstream," Megatron breathed, as her glossa circled his spike cover.

She looked up, and he immediately regretted opening his mouth, because the delicious sensation on his cover stopped. "You," she pointed a wavering finger, "Can never be too sure." She lowered her head again, and Megatron slumped against the chair, sighing softly as his cover released.

"Oh now, lookit this!" Slipstream exclaimed. "A spike. Just for me!" Her optics met Megatron's as she licked her way slowly up the pressurizing spike. "Nice," she commented, before lowering her mouth on it.

Megatron shuddered as her glossa teased its way down his spike's nodes. He felt another release of lubricant spread coolly in her warm mouth. The temperature differential was intoxicating, as was the residual tingle from the energon. She purred against him, the sound vibrating against his spike, her hands blindly exploring his chassis. He clamped one of his hands over hers, interlacing their fingers, squeezing her small hand as he felt the overload build in his spike. He closed his eyes, because watching her head bob in his lap was too much. Feeling her hot exvents across his thighs was almost too much. And the sensation of a warm, willing mouth teasing and sucking at his spike—definitely too much.

He growled as the overload slipped his control, squeezing her hand hard enough to hurt, feeling his transfluid jet into her mouth in a hot spray. This, he thought triumphantly, hadn't been hard at all. The key to Slipstream simply involved a bit of high grade energon.

She looked up, and suddenly from the glint in her eye, he realized she was nowhere near as overcharged as he'd thought. She clambered up the rest of his body, pulling him into a deep kiss, pushing his own transfluid into his mouth with that same small, agile glossa as she settled herself on his spike.

"Better have more for me, fearless leader," she goaded, grinding her hips against his pelvic frame. "Gonna work you till you run out of lubricant."

"And what then?" he teased, clamping his hands across her hips, slowing her rhythm. "That is, when, IF," he corrected hastily, "I eventually run out of lubricant?"

She reached over and tapped the decanter of energon. "Then, sweetness, we improvise."

Megatron groaned, feeling his spike already leaking away more lubricant, pressurizing in her tight valve as her hips worked against him


	4. Loyalty: Ramjet and Dirge

_WOW this kink got a little huge. Sorry. Anyway, here's the last part. Whew! I wondered why it seemed like it was taking me forever to write! The whole document is 12K words!!_

*****

Shockwave checked his chrono. Where the pit was Megatron? He'd missed all dutycycle. And he'd blown off the briefing for tonight, leaving Shockwave on his own to decide whom of the remaining two to send next.

Then again, maybe Megatron's absence was a good thing. If things had gone horribly awry, Megatron would have been prompt in executing a swift and creatively painful vengeance.

Still, he tapped gently on the door to Megatron's recharge, Ramjet in tow, at the previously appointed hour, with some apprehension. Apprehension that ratcheted higher when he heard a desolate sounding moan from within. Had…Megatron been assaulted? Those devious femmes! Shockwave berated himself for not checking earlier—perhaps that perfidious femme had tried to assassinate Megatron, and had fled—now with an unbridgeable head start!

He overrode the door codes, readying a weapon just in case she was still there.

She was…ahem…still there. Right now she was sprawled on the berth, Megatron's head between her thighs, licking her valve. "Frag yeah, baby!" she breathed, writhing on the berth. "Give me another one!" Shockwave watched in (more than slightly aroused) horror as Megatron shifted to push now, apparently three of his fingers into the valve, while his mouth teased one of the rim nodes.

"Oh!" Slipstream cried out. "Oh frag baby!" The rest of what she said dissolved into meaningless syllables as her body thrashed on the berth. Eventually, she came back under some sense of self control, sighing, "Gonna look you up when I come into heat, Meggers."

MEGGERS!? Shockwave was appalled. "MY LORD!" he said, Megatron whirled, the light glossing off his fluid-wet face. "I am…glad to see you have kept yourself so…pleasantly entertained. But duty calls." He gestured at Ramjet, who was watching the whole scene with a cunning fascination.

"Ah, yes," Megatron said, somehow, entirely composed. Baffling, Shockwave thought. Completely baffling. "Thank you, Shockwave." He turned to Slipstream, who was eyeballing Ramjet unpleasantly. "My dear. We shall have to continue this at a later time."

Slipstream huffed, but rolled off the berth, probably, Shockwave figured, realizing that if she acted up now, 'Meggers' wouldn't go for a reprise. Wise decision. It was good to see these femmes had some common sense. At the same time it was bad to see this femme so intent on Megatron. Shockwave seethed at her as she flounced by him, shooting him a disdainful look.

Ramjet was staring at the table still set up from last night—the empty decanter of energon next to some wilted flowers, a lacy cloth underneath smeared with silvery transfluid. A tin (untouched) of candied cyberberries.

"Well," Megatron said, trying, and failing, and realizing he was failing, to look authoritative covered in lubricant and transfluid. "What's this one's malfunction?"

"I have no malfunction!" Ramjet exclaimed. "I function perfectly. At all times!"

"He lies," Shockwave said, attempting to drown out the clone.

"What a surprise to find that to be one-sixth of Starscream," Megatron mused. "I would have rated him at a higher fraction."

"I don't lie! This mech is the liar. He's prone to emotional outbursts! Emotionally unstable!"

Megatron rubbed a hand across his nose and cheek in frustration. It had been a looooooong, ummm, time, with Slipstream, and it looked to be an even longer night. He wasn't sure he had that much left in him. Wait, no, he was the leader of the Decepticons. He was virile and rugged and robust and dammit he needed Sunstorm right about now to boost his vocabulary.

Frag. A shower would have to do to restore his ego and his…potency. "You, there," he directed Ramjet. "Can I trust him to stay here and not…break anything?"

"No!" Ramjet asserted, boldly.

"Yes," Shockwave said. "Remember, my lord, everything he says is a lie. Whatever he says, he means precisely the opposite."

Oh, this should prove interesting….

****

Megatron felt considerably refreshed after his cleanse. When he finally pulled himself away from wiping down the walls of the stall (damn Skywarp and his germ phobia), he found Ramjet seated exactly where he'd directed, staring longingly at the wreck of items on the table. What, Megatron thought, would a liar want?

"Do you want some?" he offered, tapping at the drained energon decanter.

"I hate the fizzy kind!" Ramjet blurted.

Megatron blinked. Oh. Right. The opposite. That meant he wanted the fizzy kind? One way to find out. Megatron went to his personal (rank does, of course, have its privileges) stores and took out a new decanter of the pink fizzier kind of energon, blowing the dust of neglect off it. Syrupy sweet to his own tastes, but, well, if Ramjet wanted it…. And Primus knew that a little energon had kicked things off right with Slipstream.

He poured the clone a cube of the stuff, pushing it at him with one knuckle, settling himself down in his chair again.

"I love drinking alone," Ramjet burbled. His eyes were on Megatron's face, wide and round and eager.

Another pause at the seeming randomness, before Megatron decoded this one. He didn't really care for the fizzy, but it might help smooth things over, and perhaps a boost to his own energon levels might not be amiss. He poured himself some and raised it in a toast. Ramjet ducked his head, embarrassed, and took a shy sip after tentatively clinking his cube against Megatron's.

"So," Megatron said, after a moment, as Ramjet continued to stare at him. It was a little unsettling. Not quite insubordinate, the way Starscream himself would do it. "What would you like to do?"

"I hate cyberberries. Especially the candied ones!" Ramjet blurted.

Ah, Megatron thought, as he reached for the tin from last night. I'm getting the hang of this already. He offered them to the buff-colored clone. Ramjet shook his head. Megatron's confidence faltered. What?

Ramjet pointed at the tin, then at his mouth, in some kind of pantomime.

"You want me to…," Megatron guessed, "feed you some?"

Ramjet nodded eagerly at the same instant his voice said, "No! That's stupid!" Well, that was a little confusing. Body or voice, body or voice, which to listen to? Only one way to find this out. Megatron plucked one of the sugary treats out of the tin and held it out. Ramjet leaned forward and daintily nibbled it into his mouth. Right. Body tells the truth, vocalizer lies. Simple enough. Megatron held up another candy, dangling it in front of the jet's face. Ramjet inched forward, this time lipping Megatron's fingers shyly.

Well, this was going to be easy. Too easy. Megatron felt…depleted. It would not do for the virile and puissant leader of the Decepticons to be unable to perform. He would have to find a way to delay events until his systems had recovered from Slipstream.

As he reached for another berry, Ramjet bounced off his own chair and into Megatron's lap, planting a kiss on Megatron's cheek. "I find you utterly loathsome," Ramjet murmured in his audio. Megatron stiffened, before he reminded himself of Ramjet's little quirk. Did none of Starscream's clones come without a massive glitch?!

"Yes, well, I find you pretty horrendous myself," Megatron replied.

Ramjet stiffened. Slag. Megatron supposed it didn't work both ways. "I mean," he corrected, hastily, "that you are an exceedingly handsome little mech." Ramjet glowed, bouncing on Megatron's lap. He threw an arm around Megatron's shoulders, pulling him into another cheek kiss. This was, Megatron decided, decidedly weird. He'd had the suck up, the egomaniac, the…Skywarp, and apparently the nympho. But this one was decidedly…unusual. Who knew that devious wretch Starscream had this much variety of idiocy in him?

Megatron pet one wing awkwardly. Ramjet squeaked, wriggling against him. Megatron reached for another of the berries, letting the clone lick the sugary coating off his fingers.

He pushed at one of Ramjet's thighs. His own spike was nowhere near pressurizing to do the job, but he could do something with his hands. Those hands which Slipstream had labeled as 'talented' last night. He mentally preened at the memory.

Ramjet squeaked again, pushing upright. He shook his head frantically, all while blurting, "I'm such a slut!"

Oh this was a trip into cognitive dissonance land. Megatron's mighty processor was beginning to ache. Megatron grabbed Ramjet's face in one hand. "You," he said. "Do not want to interface? Say nothing, just move your head."

The head shook, no.

Megatron felt vaguely insulted, but, then again, he still wasn't sure he was up to the task if needed. "Well, what do you want to do?" he asked, before he realized he was asking a question sure to get a lie. Ramjet, his cheeks still smushed by Megatron's hand, shook his head again, and wriggled off the Decepticon leader's lap.

As Megatron watched, the seeker bounced over to the berth and sat down, patting a spot next to him, brightly. But…Megatron wiped his hand over his face. Did the slaggin' thing want to interface or not? Mixed signals now, even without the lying voice. Who knew Starscream could be so maddeningly confusing? Oh, wait, he knew that already, actually. This was just the super-concentrated formula.

One way to find out, he thought, then realized he'd said the same thing about a half-dozen times already tonight. Affirmations of loyalty should not, he decided, require this much befuddlement and second-guessing on the leader's part. Then again, like Skywarp's teleportation, this one's sheer power of confusion might be handy in the future.

Like, as an Autobot captive. Oh, that was a most delicious thought. He felt a grin curve over his face at the image of the kind and gentle Autobots trying to deal with Ramjet's—confusing—behavior. He might have to arrange that at some point, in fact. Note to self: ask Shockwave about rigging Ramjet with a hidden A/V feed. Perhaps if the war effort ever got too strapped for cash, they could sell the videos.

But right now, he had to survive the night without falling headlong into the same insanity he was fantasizing about inflicting upon his Autobot enemies. In fact, it might be tolerable, wise, fun to test that. He moved to sit next to Ramjet.

The clone tilted his head at Megatron. "I hate having my cone touched," he said, almost hesitantly. Megatron brushed the top of the cone. Ramjet melted against him, pushing him down onto the berth, tangling his long limbs with Megatron's. Was he…purring? The jet snuggled against Megatron, nuzzling in his neck, hands almost trembling across his chassis.

Megatron continued to touch the jet's conical helm; Ramjet squirmed on top of him. This was getting…weird. Did all the damn thing want to do was cuddle? Megatron hated cuddling.

"So, Ramjet," he said, a malicious glint in his eye. "How would you like to be handed over to the Autobots as a prisoner?"

"I'd love it!" Ramjet blurted. His optics flew open; he shook his head frantically.

"Oh good," Megatron continued. "I hear they believe in sexual slavery for their Decepticon captives. Would you be a good sex slave for them?"

"The BEST! I love fucking!" Ramjet sat up, clapping his hands over his mouth.

"I imagine you do," Megatron said. He flipped open his interface hatch. "What do you think of this?" He was beginning to enjoy the clone's flustered behavior. Apparently he knew what he was saying and its impact.

Ramjet did not disappoint. "It's HIDEOUS!" he shrieked. And then burst into tears.

Megatron snickered. "Oh, come on, Ramjet," he coaxed. "I know about your…problem."

Ramjet flopped off him, curling in a ball. He shook his head, staunchly.

Megatron sighed, impatiently. "I know about the lying thing," he said. "I was just teasing you."

"Teasing's hilarious!" Ramjet blurted, turning further away. It almost sounded like sarcasm. Megatron wondered how much of Starscream's sarcasm was this sort of bitter backward attempt at lying his way to truth.

Slag. This wasn't getting him the clone's loyalty. Yes, yes, Megatron, he chided himself. You've had your fun. He stroked a hand down the jet's narrow thigh, determined to get this back on track. "You're right," he said, through gritted teeth. You can do this. You can make it through to this insane clone with his backwards relationship to reality. "It wasn't funny." Ramjet kept his back turned, swatting Megatron's hand away from his hip, petulantly.

Megatron looked at the door, keeping his voice down, just in case (as he often suspected) someone was lurking outside his door. "It was mean of me, and…," another look at the door, "I'm sorry." Think, he told himself, of what an asset he could be to the Decepticon forces. Not just his Powers of Mass Confusion (Note to self: do not put him in leadership, EVER), but as a solid fighter. Two things all of the clones had apparently inherited, according to Shockwave, were Starscream's flying and fighting abilities. Six of them under his control? Nothing could stop him. An entire wing of loyal fighters. Trustworthy, devoted, listening to his every whim and command. They were more than a match for Starscream. They were more than a match for any Autobot force. The idea itself was more than a match for Megatron's pride.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, and, wincing with distaste, stroked down one of Ramjet's wings. "Do you…want to just…kind of...," his mouth twisted, "cuddle?"

Ramjet flipped over, throwing his arms around Megatron, cooing. Eyes on the prize, Megatron told himself, as the clone snuggled against him. Eyes on the prize.

*****

"Yes, my lord," Shockwave lowered his optic to the floor, meekly. He wasn't even sure what he was getting yelled at for this time: Megatron was being disappointingly vague. If only he knew what he'd done wrong so he could formulate a proper apology…!

"These clones are all insane. You would not believe the horrors I have had to endure in the name of guaranteeing their loyalty!" Megatron fumed, pacing in front of his command chair. "They should all be terminated!" He stopped. "Perhaps not the femme, though."

Shockwave seethed. He had Slipstream at the top of a very short list for immediate termination. After Starscream himself. And possibly Lugnut. No, before Lugnut—Lugnut would never work up the nerve to approach Megatron with his hopeless infatuation. Lugnut couldn't even spell 'hopeless infatuation.' Quite possibly, Lugnut couldn't even spell 'Lugnut'.

"Yes, my lord," Shockwave repeated, numbly. He was beginning to despise these clones. Not just for their enviable opportunity, but for how they were sapping Megatron's strength and sanity. Shockwave fretted that if anything, he himself had been TOO loyal, and had never gotten this unique opportunity to be seduced into service.

"Well, only one left," Megatron sighed, throwing himself dramatically into his chair. "Give me the devastatingly bad news now, so I have the entire day to brace for it."

"We have very little information on this one, my lord," Shockwave said, apologetically. His antlers quivered at the dour look Megatron shot him. "We do know," he said, floundering, "that he has a penchant for material possessions."

Megatron waved his hand, irritated, "No big words unless they're praising me," he muttered.

"Yes, of course. What I mean is that Dirge, the last of the clones, seems to be a bit, well, greedy."

Megatron tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair. "Yes, well that makes sense. Again, I'm merely surprised that Starscream's composition is only one-sixth greedy."

"True, my lord."

"Well, I can't think of any true horrors I have yet to face on the berth. Unless he has a spanking fetish. I swear to you, Shockwave," Megatron said, darkly, "I will not stoop to being paddled. Even I have my limits." And his endurance had its limits. Megatron considered himself a mech of not inconsiderable prowess, but this was taxing to his systems.

Megatron was secretly longing for Sunstorm again. Or Slipstream. Then again, he still wasn't entirely recovered from last time with her. Then he caught himself thinking about Skywarp. That had been low-effort on his part…wait! What was he thinking!?

"No," Shockwave was saying, "No spanking." He hoped. The dossiers he had were woefully incomplete. But…what were the odds? There was nothing in Starscream's character that hinted at a spanking fetish. Well, maybe the desire TO be spanked, but…Shockwave didn't think Megatron would balk at that.

Megatron sighed. "This is the last one. We might think, Shockwave, of some new way of ensuring loyalty." Shockwave froze, outraged. Before he had his chance?!!?

"Yes, my lord," he whimpered.

*****

Dirge had eyes for EVERYTHING, it seemed. He commented on the pattern of the flooring of the corridor, the quality of metal of Megatron's recharge door, and the lock, the size of the room, the value of the trophies Megatron had displayed.

"Primus," Megatron muttered to Shockwave, under Dirge's continuing verbal inventory, "he's worse than that time we had that irksome Autobot—what was his name?"

"Bluestreak, my lord," Shockwave said, repressing a shudder. He'd actually had to deal with Bluestreak in his days as Longarm. It turned out that Bluestreak's favorite type of audience was the one that tried desperately to ignore him. Shockwave remembered megacycles of messages he'd erased, as Bluestreak did not understand why Shockwave did not return his after hours calls and blathered for entire cycles about various things/places he thought Shockwave might be doing and/or suggesting things they might do together (some of which made Shockwave lose his composure entirely in horrified laughter) and the worst of all was this pernicious way that his parataxis was entirely contagious!!

"Slag," Megatron breathed. "First priority, shutting him up." He waved a hand, dismissing Shockwave. Who left, a bit faster than he might, just to escape the continued avalanche of words pouring out of Dirge's vocalizer.

Megatron steeled himself as Dirge bent down to dig into one of his bins. "This is nice," the teal clone said, digging through the bin and pulling out an embroidered cleansing rag. "The monogram should be changed of course. M is such a terribly common and bourgeois letter."

Megatron seethed. "Ahem," he said, sharply. Dirge continued digging through the bin, yanking out the medallion Megatron had won—earned—so long ago in the arena. Megatron boiled over as the greedy mech tossed the chain around his own neck. Some things were just too much. He lunged forward , throttling the greedy beast with the chain, hauling Dirge to his feet. Loyalty be damned. This one would be loyal to nothing but his own appetites.

"Guuuucchhh! Hurting!"

"I know," Megatron said, smoothly. "What? I thought nothing was ever enough for you, clone. Is it possible we've discovered something that is too much for you?" He jerked tighter, the top of the medallion digging into Dirge's sensitive underthroat plating. Dirge clawed at his throat, gasping, struggling to get his feet under him.

Megatron flung Dirge onto the berth, grunting in satisfaction at the painful contact of the metal rim of the berth on Dirge's knees. He threw himself on top of the clone, looming over him, hands on either side of Dirge's helm, thumbs linked in the chain. "Well," Megatron sneered, "What have you got to say for yourself, clone?"

Dirge looked up at him, his optics vibrating with fear. Oh, much better. This mech would learn some respect. He would learn fear, and he would follow Megatron based on that fear.

"I—uhhh, release me, please? I can make it worth your while?"

Megatron's energon was up. He would have no problems tonight as he'd feared he might have had last night. He could handle whatever this pitiful groveling thing had to offer. He knelt back, releasing the chain's grip across Dirge's throat. "And, how do you intend to do that, exactly?"

"Well, the old-fashioned way, of course," Dirge said. He slid a hand down one of Megatron's arms, seductively.

"I," Megatron said, "have a better idea." He reached to the headpost where he had (always—a leader must be prepared for any contingency, whether it be personal safety or personal…predilection), a pair of stasis cuffs. He felt all of the frustration of the last five days come back to him, all of the effort to be 'nice', to accommodate, to bend to their needs and wishes and desires, all in the name of achieving their loyalty. He was tired of acquiescing. Tired of the efforts to feel them out and give them what they wanted. It was time Megatron took what he wanted. He was, after all, the leader.

He twirled the cuffs on one finger. "This," he said, "is how we will do this."

Dirge nodded. "O-okay." He lay back, submissively. "Whatever you wish, leader."

Megatron smiled. Finally, someone would do it as HE wished. "Excellent. I'm glad to see we have achieved an…understanding." He leaned over to one side to snap the stasis cuff around one of Dirge's wrists.

Dirge moved, faster than Megatron could follow, and before the Decepticon leader could figure out what was going on, the stasis cuff snapped around his own wrist, and he was driven flat onto his back between the clone's legs, his thigh servos straining at the hip attachments. Megatron flailed his free hand as far away from Dirge as possible, refusing to let him attach the second cuff.

Dirge smirked down at him—that smirk Megatron recognized so very, very much from his Second—and coolly attached the second cuff to Megatron's ankle.

ZZZAP! The stasis cuffs snapped active, sending a jolt of electricity through the right half of Megatron's body. He arched off the berth at the shock.

"Who is the leader now?" Dirge said, coyly, as Megatron fell numbly to his side. Dirge adjusted the cuffs' power rheostat just enough that Megatron could move—a little. "And you did say that this is how we will do this, did you not, oh great Megatron?" Dirge raked a hand down Megatron's interface panel experimentally, then turned down the rheo once more. Another rake of the claws. Megatron hissed at the sudden pain.

"Better," Dirge muttered. "No fun if you can't feel anything." He snapped open the interface hatch, teasing the spike and valve covers with one hand while his other pressed Megatron's pelvic frame down.

"Get your filthy paws off me," Megatron bellowed, swinging with his free hand at Dirge's head.

Dirge tsked. "You want to play even rougher?" He caught the hand and slammed it against the berth, tangling it in a loop from Megatron's arena necklace and throwing the far end of the loop over the bedpost, pinning both of his arms out of the way, useless.

Which part of Starscream was this? He'd already had the nympho and he'd've thought Skywarp checked enough of the kinkyboxes for dom/sub…did Starscream have this much aggression in him?

Yes: tied to greed, yes. The unprincipled simpleton Starscream would stoop to anything to get what he wanted. And Dirge here wasn't about the sex. He was about the power. This, Megatron decided, was bad news.

"You," Dirge announced, "are going to overload for me."

"In your dreams," Megatron defied, kicking with his one free remaining leg.

"That would be an exceedingly boring dream, for me, honestly," Dirge said. "I aim a little higher." He tickled Megatron's valve cover. Megatron squirmed, trying to get his hips away from the clone's fingers, but the action just brought more pressure upon the valve cover, which released itself. "I mean," Dirge continued, "Look how easy you are. No challenge at all." He slipped two of his talons into Megatron's valve, grinning as Megatron roared in outrage and…lust. Dirge's talons skipped straight to the sensitive nodes, stroking against them, raising the charge in a way that was hard to resist.

No. Megatron was the leader. He bucked his hips, his valve rim snapping against Dirge's hand. "Not that easy," he snarled.

"Oh, easy enough," Dirge said. "I barely have to think about this." He rose up, unlatching his own interface panel and in one smooth move, lodged his spike into Megatron's valve, pressing his entire weight on Megatron's pelvic arch, forcing it back against the berth. His hands clittered across to Megatron's spike cover. The spike released into his hand, already half pressurized from the cyberadrenaline kicking through Megatron's systems, and, he would admit (but barely) the arousal from the clone's fingers.

Dirge's hands closed eagerly around Megatron's spike, pulling it in a counterpoint to the rhythm he thrust into the valve with. "Now," he said, "tell me how badly you want me."

"Go frag yourself."

A little frown. "Oh, maybe later. Right now I'm a little too involved fragging YOU. And waiting for you to scream out my name."

"Ha! NEVER."

"Really? Strange thing, Megatron, I always get what I want."

Megatron wanted nothing more than to punch that self-congratulatory smirk off the clone's face. He struggled with his bonds, all while Dirge continued his attentions—the hands slicking through the lubricant on Megatron's spike, one circling the spike's tip while the other rose and fell against the shaft, while he kept a maddeningly slow pace of his spike in Megatron's valve, pausing at the end of every instroke to grind his spike against the upper node.

Megatron's fury grew in pace with the overload building across both of his interface systems. How dare he? More, how had Megatron let this happen?

Dirge worked himself into an overload, hissing as his spike shot transfluid into Megatron's valve, his hands still teasing the spike, the gush of hot fluid tingling against Megatron's sensor nodes.

Megatron cried out in pure rage, "Diiiiiiiiiiiirrrrrge!"as he thrashed against his bonds.

Dirge laughed down at him as the doubled overload ripped across his systems. Megatron's silver fluid shot into the air between them, landing with audible spattering sounds on his chassis, his valve gripping against Dirge's still quivering spike.

"Told you," Dirge said, smugly, "you'd cry out my name. I ALWAYS get what I want."

*****

In the end, Megatron had no choice. SOMEONE had to untie him. Dirge had left him in the wee hours, still bound, covered in lubricant and transfluid. Megatron needed someone with discretion. Someone whose trust was entire. Someone, above all, he could blame for all of this.

Shockwave entered the room and froze, his golden optic taking in the spectacle of his leader bound and spattered with sexual fluids in what Megatron presumed to be suitably abashed horror.

"Untie me," Megatron croaked. "Untie me so I can kill him."

"I believe," Shockwave said, quietly, "That may be unwise in the present moment."

"Unwise?! Unwise?" Megatron twisted on the berth, wincing as he put too much pressure on his shoulder gyro.

"Unwise," Shockwave repeated. "The clones are necessary. Such emotional outbursts would undo all of the…very hard work you have had to endure, my lord," he said, diplomatically, edging around the berth for a better view.

"This," Megatron said tightly, "is in no small part your fault as well. You should worry more about your own frame than those insane clones."

"Believe me, my lord," Shockwave said, "I do." His antlers quivered with intensity. "But as my lord is fond of saying," he knelt on the berth, unfastening his panel to reveal his erect spike, glossy with lubricant, "sometimes one must throw worry and caution to the winds and seize the moment." Megatron's eyes were glued to Shockwave's spike with a kind of fascination. Apparently not only did Shockwave have the unique frame of having one optic, he only had half the usual set of interface equipment. A spike. And a very, very large spike indeed.

He plunged his spike into Megatron's valve. "I am merely following the guidance of my wise leader," he said, apologetically. Megatron writhed as the huge spike stretched against his valve, his overworked nodes sparking back to life at the friction from the large spike's enormous nodes.

"Shockwave…," he gasped, trying to sound furious. Leaderly. Anything but impossibly aroused (again!) by the movement of the large spike.

"My lord," Shockwave said, his voice still its calm, usual, reasonable self, "you do believe in fairness, of course. This is simply you ensuring MY loyalty." His long hands seized at Megatron's thighs for leverage, thrusting into the valve, which was already spasming into an overload—what would be the first of many.


	5. Rooftop

_A/N: This kink, which I'm going to have to eventually retcon, features Starscream himself, running into my (obviously) favorite clone Skywarp. _

Even the mighty processor of the supergenius Starscream was currently at a loss as to exactly how many things were wrong with this picture. The picture: the noble, and dashingly handsome Starscream himself, cheek against the ground, aft in the air, getting his valve forcefully pounded from behind. By one of his clones. By the wussy clone. And he was enjoying it.

The enjoyment was probably what was slowing his processing speed. Skywarp did have a magnificent spike. Of course, being a clone of Starscream, that was inevitable: that he would have the same fantastic equipment as his progenitor. Starscream thought through a list of everyone he'd ever interfaced with before—they should feel lucky to have been graced with such a magnificent spike. Now he could say that with absolute confidence.

With a cry, Skywarp overloaded into him, the hot rush of fluid sparking against Starscream's (equally magnificent) valve nodes. Starscream whimpered as his valve greedily clutched at the spike, as if swallowing the overload. As the black jet collapsed against his cherry-red aft, Starscream tried to figure out exactly how all this wrongness began.

*****

It began badly. Megatron had spotted him—the first time he'd been seen since his return to Cybertron. Worse, Megatron had thrown him against the wall and told him in no uncertain terms the sort of penalties he would like to inflict upon the treacherous (well, a matter of opinion—Starscream considered himself more in the 'roguish' than 'treacherous' category) jet. Starscream had, by dint of his clever tactical mind, managed to escape (a carefully placed knee in Megatron's pelvic plate). Megatron had howled after him, bent double over his dented interface panel, swearing that his vengeance would be swift and terrible and very, very public.

Starscream was intrepid, of course, but he was not immune to…well, a little worry. Concern. One's own safety and well-being surely deserved some care and consideration.

And so he'd found himself squatting on the top of a rooftop in the suburbs of Kaon, trying to plot his next move. And how he could move at all, without Megatron getting a chance to try out any of his more creative 'penalties.' The one involving the sharkticons and the cyberchum in his cockpit had been particularly worrisome.

The rooftop had a small shelter on the top of it, and as the day cycled to night, Starscream, the ever-resourceful, had made use of it, drifting slowly into recharge.

He awoke when something fell heavily over his legs. "Back!" he'd shouted. All right, whispered, because tactical cleverness involved not giving away his position too loudly, bringing one of his guns to bear.

POP! The weight left his legs, but before he could do anything more than wonder where the mass had gone, it was back, making a weird rattling sound. He cycled his optics to lowlight and saw…one of his clones.

The black clone's knees knocked together pitifully. As he saw the null ray aimed at his head, he yelped, and released a small puddle of coolant. Starscream lowered his null ray. This, he figured, his supergenius processor told him, he could make use of.

"St—Starscream?" Skywarp said, his talons knotted together. "Wh—whu-what brings you here?"

"I am…in tactical hiding."

"Tactical hiding? What's that?"

"It's a clever strategy," he bluffed, "to remain under cover until someone who wants to offline you forgets that you exist."

Skywarp's eyes were round. "How do you know they've forgotten?"

Ah. Yes. "You, uhhh, you don't." Frag it. Starscream felt his entire frame start to tremble. "You…uhh, have to be very patient," he said, lamely.

"You're scared," Skywarp said, bluntly. "I can tell."

"I am NOT scared!" Starscream was outraged. "I am merely…gravely concerned for my personal safety."

"It's easier to say 'scared,'" Skywarp said. "Shorter. And then you can go back to being scared, and not just talking about being scared." He spoke with the confidence of an expert.

"All right," Starscream admitted. "I am scared."

Skywarp bounced down to the ground next to him, smiling. "I'm scared too! All the time! What are you scared of?"

"Megatron."

"Oooooooo." Skywarp's eyes went wide. "He IS scary."

"He wants to kill me."

Pop! Skywarp disappeared and then reappeared.

"What the frag was that?!"

"Sorry! When I get really scared, it just kind of happens. If Megatron wanted to kill ME…?" Pop! Skywarp reappeared clutching his knees to his chest, his wings folded over him. "Sorry!" he squeaked. "Please don't hurt me?"

Starscream faltered. THIS was one of his clones? Ugh. Clearly deficient. Then again it was obvious that no one could truly be the equal of the original Starscream. He was a masterpiece. The clones couldn't help but be knock-offs. "So, uhh, what are you scared of?"

"Me?" Skywarp clutched his knees tighter. "Everything. Loud noises. Soft sort of slinking noises. Strange engine noises. When my 'needs service' light comes on. Small mechs—they can get into icky places. Big mechs—they can step on you. Germs." He started ticking them off on his fingers. "The dark—you can't see what's coming to get you. The light—you CAN see what's coming to get you. Oversleeping. Spiders. Exotic fruit. Mystery meat. Getting a traffic citation. Showing up uninvited or without a hostess gift. Or both. Using the wrong for—"

"So…pretty much everything." Starscream's brilliant processor was getting bored. And more than a little overwhelmed.

Skywarp nodded. Even the beginning of the list had set him trembling with fear. He added, in a whisper, "But Megatron is even scarier!"

"I know," Starscream said, glumly. "I don't know how I'm going to get out of this one."

Skywarp scooted over, putting a hesitant arm around Starscream's shoulder. "But…but you're scared of so much less than I am!" he said. As though that were somehow brave of Starscream.

"Yes, well…."

"I wish I were brave like you," Skywarp said. His wing bumped against Starscream's. Starscream jerked at the contact. "Sorry! I'm sorry!" Skywarp moved to sweep the wing with nervous hands, as if to dust off the bump. Despite himself, Starscream made a soft moan. That felt…really good.

Skywarp's voice got very small. "Hurting you?"

"No. Keep going." It felt good. Surely the superb specimen that was Starscream, the Original, deserved a little friendly attention. He leaned into Skywarp's touch.

"O—okay," Skywarp sounded unsure of himself., but stroked his hands gingerly across the leading edge of the wings, then down to tickle the flaps. Starscream shuddered, and pulled Skywarp into a kiss.

Pop!

Starscream's hand closed around empty air. Skywarp reappeared an instant later in the same position, clutching his hands. "Sorry!"

"I was just trying to…"

"I know. But it's scary."

"Kissing? You're afraid of kissing."

"Wellllll, there are all those germs. And then biting. Painful bumping of chins," he started ticking points off on his fingers again.

Starscream cut him off. "So…how do you do it?" he asked, sharply.

Skywarp quailed at the tone of his voice. "Do it?"

"Interface. You have interfaced before, haven't you?"

"Oh. That. Uhhh, I can show you?"

Oh, this he HAD to see. "Yes, of course," he said, trying not to roll his optics.

Pop-BAM! Starscream found himself flat on his back, Skywarp over him, on him, his wrists pinned to the floor. Skywarp ground his hips against Starscream's, sinking his denta into Starscream's throat.

"This?" Starscream croaked. "This is how you do it?"

Skywarp looked up. "Not scary if you can't move," he said, matter-of-factly. He released one of Starscream's wrists to flip open his interface hatch and Starscream's in one smooth move. Starscream was stunned at how deftly he moved, so stunned that he couldn't summon any sort of reaction until Skywarp plunged his spike into Starscream's valve.

"Oh!" Starscream cried out. It felt…much better than it had any right to feel. It struck him as possibly fairly high on the wrong scale to be spiked by his own clone. He was pretty sure there were laws against it somewhere. But what the hell. Starscream was a Law Unto Himself.

*****

And that brought Starscream the Autonomous back to his face, on the roof, and Skywarp's second overload in his valve.

"You—you okay?" Skywarp's voice, gentle, shaky. A quivering hand patting his backside.

"Starscream is…fine," Starscream said, woozily.

Skywarp withdrew, gently, from Starscream's valve, laying the hips over on one side. "That okay?"

Starscream gingerly stretched his legs out straight. The mighty Starscream's valve was a little hypersensitized at the moment. He winced.

"Oh no!" Skywarp said. "I hurt you!" Skywarp leaned over him, bracing on one hand.

Starscream tried to protest, but Skywarp's hands had grabbed his spike firmly enough to make his words tumble out in a gasp.

"I'll make it up to you, I promise!" Skywarp's hand began to stroke the spike, slicking the lubricant down its length.

"You're…uhhhh….kind of good at this," Starscream said, rolling further onto his back. Skywarp rubbed a line of nodes with his thumb in quick circles, leaving Starscream gasping.

"I've had a lot of practice," Skywarp explained. "Before, you know, I figured out I could do the other thing." Oh, well that made a kind of sense. As much sense as Starscream the Apparently Irresistible was able to handle at the moment. His spike charged up quickly, both from Skywarp's skillful motion and having been so near to two other overloads.

Starscream's backstrut arched into an overload, silvery transfluid arcing over his cockpit, and onto Skywarp's shoulder. Skywarp jerked at the contact, squeaking something about germs. Starscream was going to point out that Skywarp certainly had shared enough of HIS germy transfluid without Starscream complaining, when Skywarp's hand seized the back of his helm and shoved his head against the spattered shoulder. "Lick it off," Skywarp growled.

Sweet spark, he was like bipolar or something. The hand was hard on the back of his head, insistent; the voice demanding. Starscream licked obediently at the cooling fluid, not even daring to point out that his mouth probably harbored supergerms.

Skywarp jerked his head up and forced a kiss on him, moving to straddle his original's hips. Starscream brought his hands up, only to have them slammed back against the ground.

"TOUCHING IS SCARY," Skywarp snarled. Starscream made a sound like 'geep' as Skywarp shifted to settle himself on Starscream's still pressurized spike. This mech's ideas of scary, Starscream thought, numbly, were the scariest thing he'd ever heard. If the clones represented aspects of himself—did insanity run in his programming?

"Primus, yes!" Skywarp cried out, grinding his valve against Starscream's spike. Even Starscream had to admit it was a good fit. Of course. Still, it was weird to see your own clone bounce up and down on your spike, and feel arousal rising like an electrified wave. Narcissism or something. But in this case, Starscream didn't have much choice—his arms were pinned, and some very sensitive equipment was currently in the possession of a possibly insane mech. And, to be honest, it felt really good. The naughtiness of it, the pure wrongness, excited him. And Skywarp was a damn fine looking mech. NATURALLY. He got that from Starscream. If only his paint job wasn't so…drab, he'd be downright hot.

He sure knew what he wanted. Starscream watched him throw his head back, gasping through an overload that squeezed the nodes on Starscream's spike hard enough to push him into another overload. Skywarp shuddered, feeling Starscream's hot transfluid shoot into his valve.

Oh Primus, Starscream thought, suddenly, with a tendril of panic. Sooner or later he's going to start thinking about germs. And all that transfluid. And his valve. Starscream shivered, and he realized where Skywarp got his personality from.


	6. Purple Pansy

_Me again. Sigh. This was supposed to be a kink meme kink, but it didn't end up hitting all the requested kinks. Still, it has its moments. Enjoy! _

Starscream was beginning to worry for his mental stability. Or…that he was haunted. Had the immortal Allspark fragment somehow tormented him with ghosts? First, it had started with pansies—that's what he'd discovered the little purple organic flower thingies were called—laid over his chassis when he recharged. Then, it was little things appearing—APPEARING—in his cockpit. Like energon candies. A bit of a poem. MORE pansies. A stuffed pink and white replica of an organic animal. He had a momentary panic that he had contracted some sort of sick kleptomania virus—which would not surprise him. Those Quintessons travelled everywhere and got their tentacles into…all sorts of unholy things.

But that didn't explain the weird sensation that one was being watched during recharge.

Nor, and this was the most troublesome symptom, the strange auditory hallucinations. Popping. He could swear he heard popping. All day. Faint little noises. Like…popcorn or something. Several times he had whirled on his thrusters, certain he was being watched and followed, only to hear a 'pop' reverberate down the corridor. But that could be an audio malfunction. Perhaps an excess charge across his receptor systems.

But then…the mystery hugging. Starscream was no stranger to databases, and he'd never come across a virus or disease that had as its symptom delusions of hugging. He was beginning to fear for his sanity outright. Perhaps…the cloning process had splintered something, shaking something loose in his mind? They did say that genius was borderline to insanity and perhaps the cloning, or the dying, or both, had finally nudged even his magnificent psyche over the edge?

Starscream the Magnificent feared he was becoming Starscream the Neurotic.

"Do you hear that?" he finally asked, when the popping got too much to take. He was sitting with his breakfast energon cube in the dimly lit control room. Not even realizing he was talking to himself. Oh no! He'd just turned his back to survey a monitor, and heard a 'pop'. When he turned back, a handful of pansies lay scattered across the surface of his energon. And the dreaded 'pop' echoed in his audio. Great. Now the ghost was contaminating his food.

Or trying to gaslight him. OR…he looked around the control room. He was alone. He thought. Which of his clones might do this to him? Who stood to gain? Sunstorm, no. He'd be lost without someone to admire. And Starscream certainly gave him plenty to work with—no discontent there. Ramjet? Liar, yes…and the plan was cunning and devious. Ramjet needed watching. Dirge? No, he had no real ambitions to leadership. Wealth, yes. Leadership, no. Leadership meant responsibility, and Dirge…was not one for responsibility.

Slipstream? He dismissed her immediately. Not her style. She didn't have the patience for this sort of thing. Stab him in the neck, yes. Subtle torture, no.

That left…Skywarp and Thundercracker. Skywarp? Wuss. Starscream snorted. No way. He screamed and ran every time Starscream so much as walked down the hallway. The one time he'd addressed the little coward, Skywarp had ended up spilling his energon ration down his cockpit. No. A plot like this required a cunning and courageous mind. Devious in design. Bold in execution. In short: Not Skywarp. Thundercracker? Well…Starscream wouldn't put anything past the blue clone, really, but the only 'skill' he'd ever seen Thundercracker demonstrate was bluster. Which meant if he'd entered into some plan to drive Starscream insane, he'd have either left an engraved card with his name on it, or be bragging about it so loudly Starscream's audio would ring.

He…needed an ally. Of sorts. Of course no one was the TRUE equal to Starscream, least of all one of these pitiful clones, but… And it was perfectly fitting the Original Starscream's perfect genius and cunning that he kill, as the organics said, two avians with one geological specimen. He paged Thundercracker to his control room.

The blue jet entered haughtily. Starscream considered—did he mince like that when HE walked? Seemed a little…swish. Hrm. Note to self: observe gait for proper quotient of machismo. Now, to the point, however. He pushed the contaminated energon cube over to Thundercracker.

"Please," he smirked. "Have some. The organic flowers are a local garnis." He watched, slyly, as Thundercracker held up the cube, dubious. "It's special," Starscream added, because…that's what would have worked for him. He smirked as Thundercracker took a dainty sip. "Only the finest for my finest clone."

Thundercracker coughed into the energon. "Clone!? I am the original."

"You," Starscream said. "are a clone. I am the original." Oh yes, this one deserved watching. "Unless you have a problem with that?"

The two glared at each other for a tense moment. Thundercracker shrugged, taking another sip of the energon. "No problem. Why did you want to see me again? I mean, OTHER than to remind yourself of how inferior you are, though you ARE of course," he rolled his optics, "the leader." He added, almost inaudibly, "For now."

Oh yes, not suspicious AT ALL, Starscream thought. He sat back, steepling his talons. "I need your help, however. You are," he considered himself completely brilliant for this stroke of…uhhh, brilliance, "by far the most astute and clever mech I have ever met." (Outside of, of course, myself.)

"Go on." Thundercracker sat back, steepling his own talons. The copycat! Starscream fumed. Oh, but it was very obvious who was the clone here, wasn't it?

How much to tell him? It might tip his hand as to what Starscream already knew, which might make him panicked and sloppy. Yes. "Someone," Starscream said, "is trying to make me think I am insane."

"Think you are." The cheap clone, echoing his words. Starscream growled.

"Yes. I hear…popping noises. And someone watching me."

"This sounds like internal glitching to me," Thundercracker smirked. "Proof of your defective status."

"YOU are a CLONE," Starscream said, bolting upright. How dare he!?

"Mmmm. Clearly," Thundercracker said, "I am free from whatever defects you have."

Starscream swallowed outrage. This might be the second prong in a two-prong assault. Attack him privately and publicly. But Starscream was far more devious and cunning than Thundercracker had counted on. He would find a way to outmaneuver this pitiful clone. "No matter that. What about these?" He pulled out a handful of slightly sticky energon treats, some withered flowers, and a scrap of a poem. "How do you account for these? We have not gone to Earth's surface for decacycles now—organic flowers?"

"Hrm," Thundercracker frowned. There was a suspiciously sly edge to it, Starscream thought. "I don't know. But it is clear that you have made the right decision. My keen mind will get to the bottom of this. Whoever is trying to drive you insane clearly," he said sincerely, "needs to have his ambitions stopped." I am the best, Thundercracker thought. If I am right, I can make a solid electrum-plated fool out of Starscream. And if I am wrong, I need to know who my competition is. And if I am clever I can have these two take each other out. Leaving ME in charge. As the rightful Starscream.

*****

It was not exactly rocket science, Thundercracker thought, to get to the real bottom of the mystery. If Starscream wasn't such an undeserving buffoon, he'd have figured it out ages ago. No one was trying to drive him insane. It was that idiot Skywarp. Everything fit. The popping. The pansies. The candies. That wimpy clone had a crush on Starscream. All it had taken to confirm his suspicions was a search of Skywarp's quarters. Snapshots of Starscream. A oily rag that smelled of the purple mech's joint lubricant. A dozen sound disks of Starscream's voice. A well-thumbed copy of _How to Make Anyone Fall in Love with You, _with a Kremzeek bookmark in the section "How Can These Little Things Start Love?". There was no evil ambitious rival. Only…Skywarp.

Which was completely ridiculous. Skywarp's choice was clearly inferior. But…perhaps. Skywarp knew that Thundercracker was entirely out of his league and so had aimed his affections…a little lower. Which was potentially dangerous—if Skywarp allied with Starscream…no, this could not continue. Thundercracker had to find a way to prevent that.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOR to make it happen and take all the credit. Yes. Oh, when it came to delicious scheming, Thundercracker thought, he was far, far superior to his alleged progenitor. Oh yes. Take Starscream down a few pegs, all while proving that he was perfectly, perfectly sane…and getting Skywarp's loyalty.

He wondered if his smirk looked as good on the outside as it felt on the inside.

*****

Skywarp quivered behind the crate in the storage hangar. Thundercracker had told him to meet him here, and would NOT listen to any of Skywarp's very reasonable objections. First: it was dark in the hangar, which was scary. Second: He was alone in here and that, too, was scary. Third: he had no idea what to expect and his imagination fed him a whole list of things…that were scary. He'd heard Starscream mutter something about 'ghosts' a few solars ago and ever since then, he'd been afraid to close his optics and recharge. GHOSTS!! They could possess you! They could touch you in your recharge! They could…watch you drain oil! Oh it was an unpleasant blend of mortifying and scary.

But Thundercracker when he didn't get his way was TERRIFYING, so…Skywarp crouched and tried to stop his knees from knocking together, lest it give away his position to…scary things.

Skywarp cringed around a whimper as he heard the door whoosh open and the sudden wash of light from the corridor and in walked Thundercracker (he flinched) and Starscream himself (his capacitor raced). Starscream! Here!

"Yes," Thundercracker was saying. "You were right. Someone is trying to send you a message."

"I remain unconvinced," Starscream sneered, "why we had to come here. Couldn't you have told me in the main monitor room?" Skywarp shivered as they walked in and Starscream's shadow fell over him.

"Pshhhhh," Thundercracker said, derisively. "You think we don't have that place bugged six ways to Crystal City?" He laughed as Starscream stumbled. Skywarp shivered. Did—did Starscream know one of the bugs on the monitor room was his? Oh no!

"Here," Thundercracker continued, "we have some privacy. It wouldn't do to tip our hand to your enemy while he…or she…has a chance to plot a strategy."

"Yes, I see," Starscream said. "You are nearly my equal in cunning."

"Nearly?" Thundercracker guided Starscream over to a crate that could serve as a seat. As Starscream bent to settle himself on it, Thundercracker kicked the crate away. Starscream landed hard on his aft. Behind his crate, Skywarp whimpered. He KNEW Thundercracker was scary and mean! This proved it! Thundercracker dropped his weight onto Starscream's. "Who is more cunning now, you inferior prototype?"

"Get off me, clone," Starscream commanded. Skywarp thrilled at the commanding tone. Starscream was so…sexy!!

"Why should I?" Thundercracker said. He grabbed the purple jet by the wings, squeezing at the metal until Starscream moaned. He ground his pelvic plating against Starscream's, worming his legs between the other's narrow thighs. Skywarp was frozen: aroused and yet…scared.

"Get…off…," Starscream repeated, but his tone was less commanding. Which didn't mean it had any less effect on Skywarp—the helpless desire in the edges of Starscream's voice set his sensornet aquiver.

"Do you want me to, really?" Thundercracker sneered. "I am superior. I take what I want."

"I am…superior…!" Starscream's protest was cut short by Thundercracker clamping his mouth on his. Skywarp shivered, half from fear and half (okay, more than half) from lust, watching as Starscream's talons came up, at first opened in surprise and then stroking at the broad blue wings of his clone. Skywarp closed his optics (for a klik—then reopened them when he considered how quickly something could sneak up on him!) trying to imagine the touch of those hands against his own wings.

He didn't know what to do! Thundercracker had told him to show up and wait and that he'd get something. Skywarp liked getting things—but not really surprises. Not so much. Not if they were scary. He was worried that Thundercracker had forgotten about him and his present. Which would be understandable—Starscream was pretty distracting. But…was he supposed to wait? He didn't like the idea of hiding here behind crates and watching. That's what perverts did.

And perverts were scary.

Right. He should leave. He could like…wait outside or something so Thundercracker wouldn't get TOO mad at him. He inched toward the door, his optics glued to where Thundercracker and Starscream writhed on the floor. You know, to make sure they didn't see him and think he was a pervert. Because he wasn't. He was NOT a scary pervert. Thundercracker had undone Starscream's interface hatch and, as Skywarp watched, pulled back to watch Starscream's face as he roughly plunged two fingers into the jet's valve.

"OH!" Starscream cried out—a sound that froze Skywarp to the spot, riveted with lust. Starscream's hips moved deliciously against the floor as Thundercracker began working his fingers in and out of the valve.

"Who is superior?" Thundercracker goaded. "Look at you, helpless. Out of control by your own physical lust and obviously irresistible me?" He grinned, wickedly, "Two fingers." He rubbed harder. Starscream moaned, his hips arching up into the strokes. "You want something, prototype?"

"I…uhh…ohhhhh," Starscream struggled to put some sounds together. Thundercracker paused his motion, hand stilling in the other mech's valve. "I," Starscream said, haughtily, "am unimpressed. You are clearly compensating for a diminutive spike."

Thundercracker's optics bulged at the insult. "Diminutive spike!" he howled. Skywarp quailed at the tone. Thundercracker snatched at his own interface hatch and, rearing back, plunged his spike in place of his fingers in the valve. "Diminutive!" He gritted his jaw in satisfaction as Starscream's body bucked. He ground his hips against the other jet's.

"Underperforming!" Starscream gasped. "I bet that you suffer from premature overload!"

"THUNDERCRACKER HAS NO ERECTILE DEFICIENCIES!" the clone roared, loudly enough that Skywarp popped in and out of position in sheer terror. When Skywarp popped back in, Thundercracker was thrusting mercilessly into the valve, and Starscream was moaning helplessly, his hands clawing at Thundercracker's back. The blue jet snatched at Starscream's hands, pinning them to the floor.

Thundercracker's vents hissed through his intake, his optics drifting closed, focusing on the sensation. It was…way too much for Skywarp to handle. His own spike popped, unaided, from its housing, clunking against his interface hatch. Skywarp jumped, lest the noise disturb the two, but…they were kind of beyond caring. Starscream was moaning, louder and louder in time to the furious thrusting of the blue jet. Oh if only Starscream would moan like that for him! Skywarp's hand drifted down to his spike. He twitched at the first contact, as the nodes prickled awake, but soon found himself pulling at it in time with the rising and falling of Thundercracker's taut blue aft.

Ohhhh if only it were his spike. If only he had the courage to do something about it. Like kiss him. That would be good. Kissing, and driving his spike into the valve at the same tempo as the sounds reached him, and hear Starscream moan like that for him and his hand went faster and faster along his spike, squeezing (Starscream would have a tight valve, he just knew!) and pumping the length of it, biting down small squeaks of pleasure as the nodes on the spike picked up charge and OHHHHH!

*Splat* his transfluid struck against the storage crate in front of him, a round silver glob that shimmered for a few kliks before beginning to run down the side of the crate. Thundercracker howled, arching his back up, giving one last almost involuntary quivering thrust into Starscream's valve.

For a long moment, no sound but heavy venting as Skywarp watched in shame as his transfluid trickled down, stretching toward the floor. What had he done!? He had…played with himself! In secret! Watching others! HE WAS A PERVERT!

"You," Starscream said to the blue jet. "Are completely underwhelming."

Thundercracker growled, "You didn't do much for me, either. I was thinking of myself the whole time."

"Imagine how fast you'd've overloaded if I had!" Starscream pushed himself to his elbows. "I can see I OVERestimated your abilities in another respect, too. I expected results. Not some tawdry seduction."

"Tawdry! I do not need to seduce anyone," Thundercracker scoffed, pulling his spike out. "You have no reason to talk like you're better than me."

"Better than I." Starscream smirked. "Inferior language processor."

Thundercracker's face went white with rage. Skywarp popped in sheer terror, a puddle of another kind forming on the floor. He snatched Starscream off the floor by one wingtip, the purple mech yelping in pain, hauling him over the kicked-away crate before splatting a hand right across Starscream's aft. Lubricant and transfluid leaking from Starscream's valve flew in all directions with every hit, slicking Thundercracker's hand, splattering across their bodies.

"Indignity!" Starscream howled. "Mistreatment! Abuse!" Thwack! Thwack!

"I'll show you who is the inferior mech!" Thundercracker snarled.

"STOP IT!" Skywarp screamed, popping out of his hiding place. "Stop!"

"Ah," Starscream said, "a much worthier clone to aid me from your indecorous behavior."

"Why should I stop?" Thundercracker said, changing from spanking Starscream to rubbing his fluid-slicked hand around over the plating of the purple jet's aft. "If our all-powerful leader were truly deserving of our respect, surely he'd be able to stop me himself."

"I was merely…gauging the threat you posed to me. I am unimpressed." Starscream pushed himself off the crate, one hand reaching to rub his spanked aft. "Though I shall take note of Skywarp's rescue." He blinked. Skywarp and 'rescue' in the same sentence? Well, perhaps it made sense that not ALL of Starscream's warrior prowess could be contained within one clone. Wait a minute: now that he thought of it, why didn't he have a Fearsome Warrior clone?

Unless…Slipstream…?

This disturbing chain of thought was derailed by Thundercracker heaving up his head by the helm. "You know what?" Thundercracker said. "Until you recognize my immanent superiority, you should shut up." He waited until Starscream's mouth gaped in surprise and shoved his spike in the surprised jet's mouth. Starscream tried to protest—around the spike.

"Actually," Thundercracker said, "That really kind of works for me. On so many levels."

"Stop it," Skywarp said, weakly. His own spike released another dollop of lubricant that—mixed with the lubricant and leftover transfluid from before oozed around the seams of his interface hatch. Thundercracker's optics slitted in pleasure, his hands firm around the purple jet's black helm. Skywarp whimpered.

"Why?" Thundercracker said. "I don't hear him complaining? Why should I stop?"

Skywarp started shaking. "Because…."

Thundercracker shifted his grip on Starscream's head, wincing as the purple mech tried to bite him. "Because why?"

"Because…." Skywarp quivered as lubricant leaked visibly from his armor. "You're turning me into a PERVERT!" He lunged at Starscream, frantic, his interface panel snapping open. He dropped to his knees wrapping his arms around Starscream's narrow waist, rubbing his face against the broad surface of the wings, as he slowly pushed his spike inside the valve. "Not a pervert," he said, pathetically. "Not." He shivered, feeling the slick valve spiral down against his spike.

He began pushing, frantically, into the valve, his hands tentatively, then a bit more boldly—but not much!—stroking across the wings. Starscream moaned, his mouth still…occupied by Thundercracker's spike.

"Not a pervert," Skywarp murmured, slowing, suddenly abashed at his boldness.

"Pervert." Thundercracker goaded.

"Not!" Skywarp jerked his hands away from Starscream's back. "I'm not! Perverts are scary!"

"You are…," he paused to groan, "SUCH a pervert. Admit it."

"No!" Skywarp was so horrified he POPped. "Not a pervert!"

"You're a pervert or you LIIIIIIIIIIKE Starscream. Which one?"

"NO! NO No no no NONONONONO!" Skywarp's hands tightened over Starscream's shoulders, his face blazing with embarrassed heat, his hips shoving against Starscream's, punctuating his denial. The 'no's ran together into a nasally growl, his hands gripping for leverage against the wings' leading edges. Starscream tried to moan, his body writhing between the two of them. Skywarp made a fierce snapping growl, overloading, his claws digging into the front edges of the wings. He bit into Starscream's neck, ferociously. Starscream jerked upright, Thundercracker's spike dislodging from his mouth as he screamed out, his valve pulling greedily at the black clone's spike.

Thundercracker smirked, folding his arms across his chassis, not even heeding his still erect spike. This was victory, he thought. Starscream hyperventing as the fraidy bot overloaded hard in him, through his own transfluid.

"Results," he said, calmly. "THAT's your mystery solved. I am clearly superior. And this is the source of your 'insanity.' The pansy himself." HA! He thought it might be overkill to put his hands on his hips, throw back his head and laugh…but he'd always wanted to try it. He tried it. It felt…magnificent!


	7. Facing his Fears

A/N: written for Darkfest prompt. NOW edited so FFN doesn't keep EATING MY HIATUS BREAKS! *shakes fist*

"Oh indeed," Sunstorm's oily voice carried across the hangar of the wrecked ship, half lodged in the lunar surface. "Skywarp's flight skills are entirely unmatched."

Thundercracker harrumphed from where he stood. Not eavesdropping, no. The magnificent and superlatively superior clone of that inferior prototype Starscream did not stoop to eavesdropping. He was merely…intelligence-gathering. Intelligence gathering, intelligently. What more intelligent, resourceful way to gather intelligence than listening when mechs did not expect to be overheard?

But this nonsense about Skywarp being a superior flyer was clearly…insanity. Then again, everyone knew Sunstorm would praise anyone for just about anything. Why, the other day when Thundercracker had scared the purple wussbot so badly that he'd leaked coolant, Sunstorm had praised the nice symmetrical circle of the coolant puddle. So his opinion on Skywarp's flying…? Irrelevant. At BEST.

"I think," Ramjet's nasally voice cut in, "Thundercracker is the superior aerialist.

Yes! No, wait. Ramjet…lied all the time. Thundercracker stiffened in outrage. How dare he!

This…could not stand. HE was the superior flyer. He was the fastest, the most maneuverable. Not to mention the handsomest, though that went without saying. Thundercracker resolved to fix this. Right now.

He stomped down the corridor of the ship to the small space Skywarp had claimed as his own. Well, cowered in as his own, really. Barely large enough to turn around in. There were scratches of black and purple paint on the walls from where the jet had struggled to move around.

"Skywarp," Thundercracker bellowed, just because he liked the way his mellifluous voice reverberated in the tiny space.

"Eeep!" Skywarp squeaked, cringing against the wall. When his audio cache cleared, the jet whispered, "Can you keep your voice down? Loud noises are scary!"

Right. This was a better flyer than Thundercracker. Not a chance.

"So, Skywarp," he said, leaning against the doorframe. "I hear you think your some hot flyin' slag."

"I—I do?"

"'Pparently."

Skywarp cringed. "Sorry! I'm afraid of foreclipped slang words!"

WHAT-ever. "I said," Thundercracker said, firmly. "I hear you think you're better than I am. Clear and correct enough for you, Warpy?"

The black jet wrung his hands. "Nicknames are also frightening. Why are they called 'nick' names? Does that mean the other part has been nicked like stolen or nicked like cut?" His optics grew round with fear. "Linguistic imprecision is TERRIFYING!"

Okay. Getting a little off track here, Thundercracker thought. Time to drag this one back. "You and me. Flying contest."

Skywarp looked at Thundercracker, stunned. He pointed at the blue jet, then himself. "You? Me?"

Impatiently, Thundercracker repeated, "Flying contest. We'll see who's better." It was patently clear who had the superior processing speed.

"I don't want to."

He didn't want—what? "You," Thundercracker said, haughtily, "Don't have a choice. We are going to settle this."

"But—competition is scary!" Skywarp shivered. "There's the risk of injury—very high, especially when flying. I'm barophobic, did you know that? Because gravity is terrifying—it wants you to crash! And so there's gravity which is scary, and then possibly running into obstacles, and the obstacles themselves are probably scary, otherwise why would you want to get away from them? And then aggression! Do you know what too much cybosterone does to a mech's systems in the long run?" He quivered, and then *pop*ed in and out of the room. "It shrinks your mechawee!" he whispered, as if afraid to say it too loud.

Mecha-wee? Oh, dear sweet Primus. This was not his clone-brother. Thundercracker simply refused to acknowledge he could have ANY CNA connected to this level of linguistic wussitude. And hadn't Skywarp just been getting on him about slang? Coward AND hypocrite.

A dangerous combination and one Thundercracker had to put in its place before it got dangerous. "One megacycle," he said. "Outside. Be there or I'll GIVE you—and your mechawee— something to be afraid of." He turned on his heel thrusters, feeling solidly confident that he was making a majestic exit.

[**]

The other clones crowded around the hull of the Nemesis. Not because they really cared, but because there was nothing better to do. Judge Judy wasn't due on until later. They loved Judge Judy. Well, for different reasons. Slipstream considered the diminutive squishy a role model in authoritarian femininity; Dirge liked to keep a running tally of the money won or lost by the judgments (this was where he learned to love the expression of humiliation and rage on the face of a losing defendant); Thundercracker liked the powerful way she wielded authority; Starscream liked how she treated her bailiff whom he insisted was her Second In Command; Ramjet liked to cheer for the side who was lying better; Sunstorm picked up pointers on sucking up to authority figures; and even Skywarp decided that it was good that there was law and order and that the 'nice lady' prevented things from getting too rough. "No one got hurt," was his final approving judgment.

But that wasn't on for another megacycle and Starscream had gone to Earth, determined to confront Megatron and maybe bring back a disco ball for the main hangar (he'd promised and Dirge was a terrible whiner when he didn't get what he wanted) so no one was ordering them to do pointless chores. And so here they all were.

Thundercracker had set up the obstacle course that their alleged originator had made to hone their skills—it had a speedway, a sharp turnaround and (Thundercracker had grinned wickedly) several pop-up obstacles. If anything was going to scare Skywarp right out of flying, a target that popped out of nowhere would do it.

Ramjet had won the dice roll to give the signal, and waited by the starting line. After several false starts (he kept yelling 'stop!' by mistake) he finally clapped his hands together and they were off. Skywarp blasted away from the starting line, whimpering about the loud noise and his audio receptors. Thundercracker snarled as he had to struggle to keep up. In flat out flight, it was a dead heat. But they were coming up to the first target. And, Thundercracker thought smugly, he knew exactly where they were. He positioned his flight path for optimal evasion.

The first target appeared.

Skywarp squealed, his thrusters bursting white hot with fear, and he spun somehow in a terrified nimbleness, under and around the target. The rest of the targets were the same—he careened wildly, zipping from one panicked surprise to the next.

And somehow, he was pulling ahead.

Thundercracker was…furious. There was no fury so magnificent as Thundercracker's fury, but he'd rather, at the moment, be demonstrating the magnificence of Thundercracker-in-victory. But still, he consoled himself, the hairpin turn was coming, and the wild way Skywarp was flying…he'd never make it. He'd go sailing into space.

Thundercracker bore down on his throttle, determined to make the tight turn with the grace and elegance that was suitable to his superiority.

Skywarp overshot the turn, as he predicted and then…disappeared with a vacuum-stretched 'pop', reappearing ahead of Thundercracker on the last straightaway. Thundercracker's rage knew no boundaries at all. Skywarp had…cheated! No! Only the keen intellect and slick morals of Thundercracker were allowed to cheat!

He was so enraged that he barely controlled his own flight, coming past the finish line at two full lengths after the purple wuss.

His magnificent fury was only matched by the burning itch of his humiliation. Like a rash for which there was no ointment. And for which Sunstorm was an irritant.

"Such grace!" the saffron jet burbled. "An astonishing display of, uhhhh," Sunstorm faltered, "gracious secondary success."

Thundercracker growled.

"I-I mean, of course, that you were superlatively brilliant in allowing Skywarp to win, which you…obviously only did out of your magnificent generosity and desire to help him overcome his fears."

"Fears?"

"Oh yes, Skywarp's fear of victory is legendary!"

"Skywarp isn't afraid of anything," Ramjet ambled over.

"The only thing to fear," Dirge added, "is fear itself."

Right. Thundercracker looked over to where Skywarp was shivering with fear as Slipstream approached him for a hug. Thundercracker raged. That was HIS victory hug. He was being stolen from, right now, in front of his inferior copies. BY an inferior copy.

This would not stand. He would get the better of that deviously 'afraid' act that Skywarp pulled. He would see just how afraid the black and purple jet really was. He would teach him new meanings of fear!

[**]

The first step in teaching an uppity inferior clone new meanings of fear, Thundercracker discovered, was to learn new meanings of fear oneself. Thankfully, the organics on the disgusting mudball below had a host of stupid fears that they had categorized for easy searching. He decided he would be gracious enough to (mentally) be grateful for their effort.

Pteronophobia, he discovered: fear of being tickled with feathers. That seemed…Skywarp enough, but Thundercracker wanted something that would be abjectly humiliating. For Skywarp and not himself. He simply couldn't picture him lowering his magnificent self to tickling Skywarp. Who would, no doubt, manage to squirt lubricant on him in his paroxysm of fear and tickles. Blennophobia: fear of slime. Promising, but again, he could see how this could backfire and Thundercracker again end up coated in slime. He would not soon forget (nor forgive) the humiliation of losing to the fraidy-jet in the obstacle course. How was he to know that Skywarp's fear actually increased his reflexes?

Right. More research. He had to find something he could inflict to put Skywarp in his place. Aulophobia. Fear of flutes? What? That just…didn't seem possible. Even for Skywarp. Still, he jotted it on his list. Arachibutyrophobia. No, he couldn't even pronounce that one, much less try to figure out what peanut butter was. The list went on and on. Thundercracker stayed up way past his recharge time, jotting and plotting. And by shiftcycle, he was ready.

[**]

"Skywarp," he said, earnestly. "I need your help."

"M-my help?" Skywarp's optics quirked worriedly. "I…I don't think I can help you," he whispered.

"Of course you can," Thundercracker said, exuding confidence and more than a touch of bonhomie. Yes, he would prove himself superior to this pitiful wretch. Even his vocabulary was better. Bonhomie. "You're the only one who can help."

"I…me? No one else?"

"You are the only one!" Thundercracker said, the bonhomie edging into his Commanding Tone, his volume rising. Skywarp quailed back, intimidated beyond asking further irritating and plot-hole-widening questions.

"O-okay," Skywarp said, dubiously. Thundercracker grabbed him by the wrist and tugged him stumblingly behind him to the outside of the ship.

"There," he said, pointing to a dark space under the hull, a narrow crawlspace between the outer hull and the lunar surface. "I lost the datapad under there."

"H-how?"

"I'd tell you," Thundercracker said, at the edge of his patience, "but it's really scary."

"Oh!" The optics were large circles. "Don't tell me! Please!"

Easier than he thought. "Only you can get it out from under there for me."

"But…why can't you?"

"I, uhhhhh, I injured myself."

"In there?" Skywarp's optics flickered in fear.

"No! No. Earlier today. I sprained a servo." Thundercracker hitched up on one side, putting his weight on one thruster heel, trying to look weak and sad. It was a challenge for someone of Thundercracker's virility to appear so fragile, but Thundercracker had superlative acting chops to his credit. "Please?" he said, using said chops.

"O-okay." Skywarp got down and stuck his head into the darkness under the ship. "W-where did you drop it? I don't see it?"

Of course you don't see it, Thundercracker thought. That's because there isn't one. "It must have gotten pushed further back when I tried to grab it," he said. "You'll have to go in more." He was so tempted to plant his foot squarely in the wriggling black aft. But he restrained himself. The lunarspiders that liked to nest in the dark crevices in the moon's surface were more than enough. Besides, he might mar his exemplary polish. He could hardly restrain a masterful chortle as Skywarp, his legs trembling from fear, disappeared under the ship's bulk. He could hear whimpering reverberating through the space. Not quite loud enough to awaken the spiders. "All right in there?" he boomed. He heard a solid thunk as Skywarp jumped, his entire back slamming against the ship's underside.

"Fffffine. Please…be quiet. I think there are…things in here with me!" Skywarp's voice drifted, the thinnest of whispers.

Thundercracker smirked. He kicked the underside of the ship with all his might, the loud clang echoing through the confined space. He heard the soft ploppings of the lunarspiders dropping from their cozy webs. And he heard the sweetest music he could imagine—other, of course, than his own beautiful voice—Skywarp screaming in stark, tight terror.

"!" Glorious music. A hallelujah chorus of Thundercracker's superiority, punctuated by the panicked scrabblings of limbs as Skywarp tried to escape the falling spiders.

Thundercracker threw back his head and laughed, as loud and hard and long as he could manage. Until he heard a *pop*.

Oh, frag.

*Pop*! Skywarp reappeared in front of Thundercracker, his frame strung with the blue tendrils of lunarspider webs, his face a rictus of terror, his knees knocking, and his hands clutching…a datapad? A datapad. With 'property of Dirge, do not touch, mine all mine all mine' on it. Thundercracker had no choice. His tanks boiled with rage, but he took the pad, muttering the most ungracious thank you that had ever been uttered. He consoled himself that even in his ingratitude, he was superlative.

[**]

That last time had been a failure, Thundercracker thought, but every leader faced setbacks, and it was how one dealt with the setback that demonstrated one's own superb character. He would rebound to total victory.

Total victory this time required some equipment, which in his genius, he managed to have delivered to the Post Office Box in Detroit. One quick swing by later, and he was all set. Cameras were installed focused precisely to capture the humiliating spectacle.

"Oh Skywarp," Thundercracker sang. "I need your help with something."

Skywarp crept into the rec room, his optics staring at the grey lumpy pad on the floor. "There—there aren't any spiders under that, are there?"

"No. Of course not." Slag, that would have been a good idea. He filed that away: everything was scarier with spiders. "I need to test this device."

"Test!" Skywarp cringed behind the door, only one optic showing around the frame. "What happens if I fail?"

"Nothing. It's just, well, I need someone I can trust. I trust you, Skywarp."

The other optic appeared. "Why? Are you sure there are no spiders? I'm afraid of spiders. And the dark. And confined spaces."

Thundercracker gestured around the large rec room, well-lit (the better to capture all of this on film). "No spiders. Promise. Just this thing."

"What is it?" He crept into the room, flinching as if he expected the pad to leap at him.

"It's just a game."

"How—why do you need me to test a game?"

Thundercracker feigned a frown. "I want to learn how to dance, but…I'm afraid of looking like an idiot."

"Me too!" Skywarp nodded, earnestly.

"So…," Oh you wickedly ingenious actor, you, he praised himself, "I was thinking I could maybe learn this way."

"That makes sense." Skywarp eyeballed the dance pad carefully. "So why do you need me to test it?"

"To see if it's too hard for me." Thundercracker rubbed his thigh. "Pulled that servo, remember?" Ah, Thundercracker, you fiendish genius! Or did genius fiend sound better?

"Okay, what do I have to do?"

"Ah. You just match what the image on this screen is doing." This should be terrifically humiliating. He'd set the game on the hardest level. The music started, and Skywarp's optics darted frantically from the screen to his feet. Skywarp froze. Thundercracker felt a surge of triumph at the stark terror in the purple and black jet's optics. He hoped the cameras were getting all of this so he could replay this at leisure, and for others, in perpetuity: Skywarp terrified of a game.

Skywarp looked up. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"Just…do what the screen tells you!" He gestured. The little cartoon woman on the screen was simple enough to follow, feet hitting the colored symbols that exactly matched the ones on the pad. Skywarp stared, and began trying to wiggle his hips to match the image.

"No! Not the hips. The feet! Do what the feet are doing!"

"The…feet?" Skywarp looked up at the screen, down at his feet. "How?"

"How? How can you be so stupid!" Thundercracker roared. "This simply isn't that hard!"

"Please don't yell," Skywarp whimpered.

"Don't yell? A sparkling could do this!" He shoved Skywarp aside. "Here! Like this!" He stomped on the pad, following the screen. "Look! Left, right, chassez, kick. Like this!" He tried to follow the motions, but they came way too fast for his feet to follow—left, right, spin, side tap, back kick, jump….ahhhh! Thundercracker tripped over his own pedes, crashing onto the floor.

He heard applause from the rec room doorway. Sunstorm and Ramjet stood there, grins spread across their inferior faces. "You are a veritable Terpsichore!" Sunstorm gushed.

"That was the most awesome display of talent I've ever seen," Ramjet deadpanned.

Thundercracker seethed as he had never seethed before as he dragged himself up onto his feet again.

"And, oh look," Sunstorm added, pointing to the cameras. "He has recorded this so that we can view this spectacle of choreography again and again and again."

"I have no idea what I'd do with a copy of that," Ramjet smirked.

Oh. Skywarp was going to PAY!

[**]

This time, Thundercracker thought, he was pulling out all the stops. Enough with the chorophobia. Enough with the spiders and darkness and cramped spaces. Sparkling's play, the lot of that. He was breaking out the Big Guns of Stark Raving Gibbering Terror this time: Public Speaking.

"Skywarp," he said, sliding smoothly into the seat next to the black jet in the dining hall. He hadn't thought of a great cover story for this one, so he'd decided to go with the truth. Partial truth. Adulterated truth. Skywarp could not handle the truth—was probably afraid of it. "I think it's time you faced up to some of your fears."

"Why?" The energon cube dropped from Skywarp's fear-numbed fingers, clattering against the tray. Skywarp 'eep'd and popped in and out.

"It's good for character building. And…you're a handsome mech," not as handsome as me, of course, "and you deserve a little self-confidence."

"I do?"

"Of course. Self confidence is s—"

"Scary?" Skywarp cut him off.

"SEXY. I mean, just look at me." Thundercracker preened.

"Scary," Skywarp repeated.

Grrrrr. Whatever. "The point is, Skywarp, you need to do this." He handed over the datapad. Skywarp read it, his optics flickering with tension.

"A speech? I have to give a speech? In front of EVERYONE?" *Pop*

Thundercracker waited for Skywarp to pop back in. "It's not everyone," he said, soothingly, lyingly, "it's just us. We're your friends, right?" Frag, with friends like these clones…?

"Oookay. You are my friends. How bad can it be, right?"

Oh, very, very bad, Thundercracker hoped.

[**]

The clones were assembled, grumbling. Their foul mood made Thundercracker's spark sing. Oh, Skywarp would foul this up on a cosmic level. In front of witnesses who were already irritated that they had been forced to this assembly (called, their rosters read, by Skywarp himself) instead of being left to their own devices. Slipstream was complaining about being taken from her manicure; Dirge from his day trading. Sunstorm was praising the tension that all of this delay was building, and Ramjet was loudly vociferating how much he LOVED waiting and that this would DEFINITELY be worth his time.

Skywarp, when he appeared, looked to be in the high stages of Mortal Terror—his knees clattered together as he walked, he cringed over, clutching his notecards in trembling fingers. He kneeknocked to the center of the stage. Thundercracker tapped the light controls: a bright spotlight blaring on Skywarp, but not enough to blind him to the judgmental glowing red optics of the other clones.

After a long moment of standing there, quivering, Skywarp started making 'muh' sounds, as if priming his vocalizer for speech. He looked over to Thundercracker, who grinned, wickedly.

Dirge gave up and pulled out his portable and began texting trading orders to his stock agent, muttering that time was money.

"Uhhh, ummm, okay," Skywarp began. He wrung his notecards. "I have a little speech," his voice squeaked on the last word, as if even the very notion of speaking were terrifying, "for you and it would be very…not-scary of you to please just hear me out…without being too mean? Please?"

A restless shifting in the crowd. "How long is this going to take?" someone complained. "Get on with it already."

"Uhhh, okay?" He tried to uncrumple his notes, squinting at them in the washout of bright light. "My Speech," he read.

"Oh no! Monotone!" Slipstream said, loudly. "Is there anything worse than a droooooone?"

Skywarp looked up at her, optics fearful. "Sorry! I'm sorry!" He tried to smooth his notecards with his thumbs. "I'll do better. MY Speech!" He looked up for approval. Slipstream rolled her optics, but decided that more commentary would just make this ordeal THAT much longer.

"My speech!" Skywarp repeated. "The t-t-topic of m-my speech is...Th-thundercracker."

Thundercracker elbowed himself off the wall, uneasily. Oh this could be bad. Skywarp had asked what he should write about, and Thundercracker had figured that keeping the topic wide open would…terrify Skywarp with the possibilities. He'd never expected HE'd be the topic. Was Skywarp smarter than he looked?

No. Thundercracker had all of the keen evil intellect in the group—didn't he?

"Thundercracker," Skywarp began, "is the nicest friend a mech could ask for. He's always looking out for me." Thundercracker felt the other clones' optics flick to him. Not. Funny.

"Thundercracker is always trying to get me to better myself, so that one day I can be as awesome and self-confident as he is. He has been helping me to face my fears, which has been terrifying for me—as you know, I suffer intensely from cainophobia and new stuff positively scares me half to death!" He looked up from his notes, muttering 'eye contact, eye contact' to himself. He tried to force himself to meet the optics of his clone-brothers and sister.

"And he doesn't treat me like a sparkling but…insists that I stand up to his challenges and…he's so very good to me." Skywarp's lip was trembling almost as much as the rest of him. "He made me face my fear of flying, and gravity, and spiders and dark spaces and dancing and now this because he knows that in the end, it will all make me a better mech and a better friend for him."

"Awwwww," Ramjet sneered, "That is so cute."

"I love how you're not afraid of run-on sentences anymore!" Sunstorm gushed.

"Thundercracker is also the most handsome mech, like, ever. Blue is a nice color. He's a very handsome shade of blue and he keeps himself super shiny, because he knows that appearances matter. One time he polished himself for three whole megacycles. He was so shiny it hurt my optics!" Skywarp quailed at the memory. "He has really good posture for one thing and for another he's got really good hygiene—he smells really, really nice."

Dirge rolled his optics, groaning. Sunstorm jokingly sniffed the air in Thundercracker's direction. "Must we really listen to this fascinating drivel?" Ramjet whined. "There really aren't any better uses of my time."

Skywarp shivered at the complaints, his thumbs puncturing his notecards in fear. "I…uh…Thundercracker is also very, very smart. And kind. And humble. Why, did you know he is afraid of dancing? Just like me! It makes me so very happy to have something in common with such an awesome mech." A snicker rippled through the crowd. Thundercracker felt his recently-praised posture sag. That was a lie! A story he had told Skywarp to get him to….oh! Thundercracker was torn between seething at this humiliation and preening at the praise. Was there such a thing as preething?

"And even though he is very easily injured and slow to heal, he keeps his complaints to himself. Did you know he pulled a servo? You can barely tell: that's how brave and uncomplaining he is." Another round of snickers, this time with a few muttered 'wuss'es for good measure. The noise startled Skywarp—he popped out and then back.

"And he's shown me," Skywarp straightened up, "that it's okay to be scared. He was scared to go under the ship, too. And he was scared of that dance game, too." The giggles were rising to a tide, almost surging into a guffaw.

Thundercracker panicked. He had to find a way to stop this. Skywarp was ruining everything!

"In conclu—in conclusion," Skywarp looked rattled by the laughter among the assembled clones, "Thundercracker is the best mech ever. He has nobility, character and intelligence and generosity. He truly cares about bringing out the best in all of us. And his ambition to be leader of us is truly one worthy of a mech of his character." The notecards fluttered to the ground as Skywarp *pop*ed away.

The clones burst out laughing.

"I don't know which of you," Dirge said, leaning over the seat between Ramjet and Sunstorm, "should be more jealous about Skywarp stealing your schtick."

"Neither," Slipstream said, wiping a tear from her optics from over-laughing. " Delusional doesn't apply to either one of them."

"That," a voice came from the back of the darkened room, one that made all of them jump to attention, "was a most interesting display." Starscream himself stepped from the shadows. "Skywarp has done a great service in opening my optics. Easily injured? Afraid of dancing? Generosity of spirit? I hardly know which of these character traits impresses me LEAST about you, Thundercracker. I was honestly considering you for the position as my Second In Command, but with Skywarp's GLOWING recommendation, I see that I shall have to find someone else."


End file.
